


Through death's lovely haze

by L1233



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Dumbasses, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Trans Richie Tozier, Transphobia, Unread
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1233/pseuds/L1233
Summary: ...Some other times, Richie's mask would slip, leaving him exposed raw for a second. bruises and cuts layering the thing that used to be skin."The largest organ we have" eds voice reminds him,fragments of a sunny past,When they all would rest at the quarry or at bill's house, Stan arguing with him about something mundane and Eddie in the back, spilling fact after fact translated by his mother and ingrained into his mindOr, I thought: "hum, what would've happened if Richie was the one stuck in the deadlights" and naturally... I went off the fucking wall.Enjoy 🌻
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	1. Death's deceiving hands

**Author's Note:**

> It may sound really dark going by the tags but it ends sweetly, I swear.
> 
> On another note, I'm not trans so I'm sorry if I come across as offensive to anyone or hurtful, it's not my intention at all.  
> In this fic, Richie is in hormonal therapy but hasn't told anyone from the losers club.
> 
> I'll put trigger warnings where they're needed except for depression because it's constantly implied throughout the fic, if you have questions, or I missed a tag, feel free to tell me.
> 
> Thanks for reading and any feedback is really appreciated💛

...

There’s always some background noise just waiting to be heard; to tear someone away from reality and throw them into that unknown thing. It’s always waiting, lurking patiently by: dogs barking; bells ringing... sometimes even as vicious as kids screaming; as creative as the all-consuming time. Once it catches his attention, it slowly retreats into the black veil where it lays dormant until he forgets again.

But even worse than the noise, it’s the quietness itself.

Richie feels like everything quiets down when the clock hits midnight, and it’s a strange sound... the silence, that is. Richie doesn’t know if she’s more powerful than the noise, but it feels like a she, mighty and fuelled by its past, one much older than mankind.

And its fatality never ceases to frighten him.

Richie guesses that’s why he feels the need to overcompensate, the need to be loud and noisy. Raunchy, some may say, but that’s okay by Richie, it’s better for them to think he’s all of that, than them finding out about his stupid fears, about his life. It’s lonely sometimes, but it’s better this way. At least he makes himself believe that.

Some other times his mask would slip, leaving him exposed raw for a second, bruises and cuts layering the thing that used to be skin. _“The largest organ we have._ ” Eds’ voice reminds him.

Fragments of a sunny past, when they all would rest at the quarry or at bill’s house. Stan arguing with him about something mundane and Eddie in the back, spilling fact after fact translated by his mother and ingrained into his mind, to keep him from playing, from being. The others would nod sometimes, if only to make him feel accepted. To assure him that breaking skin was okay, that it will regenerate just like blooming trees and dry rivers.

Those times are worse... way worse than the numbing haze he lived through the smoke of his parents’ neglect. Those times don’t allow for a change of mist, ‘a change of scenery’ Bev would tell him every time she wanted a cig between her lips and a cursed companion by her side. The others couldn’t understand this part, but it wasn’t their fault. Even with Eddie’s overbearing mother, or Stan’s strict parent. They could never understand what it was like to have hell knocking at your door whenever they felt like reminding you of your sins. _’Your scars are showing fag, didn’t pin you as a masochistic too darling Lizzie.’_ or the chanting, oh god the chanting, his skin would itch and his heart drop to his stomach every time Maggie started chanting or singing under her vodka infested breath, _‘Lizzie, oh sweet darling, I’m sorry your brother took you from me Lizzie’._

He couldn’t tell if he was jealous or relieved of his friends’ obliviousness to life. Oh, what a fucking lady miss Life was, ask Richie, he’s been fucked enough times by her to be aware of her wickedness. Her rotten lips grazing his cheeks while long, pointy nails rhythmically tapped on the pack of cigarettes by his bedside table. A chilling laugh reverberating from her hollow chest pressed against his body. Sometimes he laughed too, with short messy laboured breaths falling from shaky lips and a soaked face.

“Rich you good? You’ve been quiet today,” Mike asks. Snapping him out of his thoughts. Just in time to drop the cigarette, inching dangerously close to burning his fingers. “Well, of course my darling boy, I’m more than good, quite frankly I’m absolutely joyful on this day.” It was a knee jerk reaction lately, his mouth sprouting bullshit with British boy or southern jerk (as they called his fake accents) to keep his friends from reaching closer to the edge of what He’s become.

“¡Mike don’t jinx it, would you? He’s finally calm!” shouted Stan from the water while Bill and Eddie laughed in the back. _yeah don’t jinx it Mikey boy, I’m covering that part well on my own_ , But Richie only smiled when the other boy casts another glance back before jumping in the icy water.

Richie lit another cigarette as he laid on his back in the black towel. Eyes focused on the clear blue sky, as time passed by as though nothing mattered to him. Eddie came out of the water once or twice to reapply sunscreen on, but no one said anything to Richie.

_maybe this way they won’t be as annoyed with him as usual, maybe if he keeps a certain level of distance they’ll forget him too and it won’t hurt as bad anymore_.

It’s probably been hours, Richie can’t tell from the spot where he lays, but his tinted glasses make everything seem a lot darker than it really is. He wonders if alcohol does the same thing for you, maybe that’s why mom never gets my name right, _‘Lizzie where are you darling girl?’_ , He reckons as Stan gets out of the water and sits by his side. “you’re giving Eddie an aneurysm, why are you so still rich?” The boy asks while stealing a puff from his maybe eight cigarette of the evening.

“Eds is okay Stan, you’re just tired of trying to resist this fine body, I understand.” Deflect, just avoid answering and they won’t have anything to hold over him. “Richie cut the bullshit please, how much sunscreen do you think someone needs at fucking sunset? He’s worried. We all are, you’ve been avoiding them like the plague for almost a month now, and I finally convince you to come with us just for you to think it’s okay to... lay there like a fucking corpse for hours?” Stan motions to his stiff frame, But Richie just focuses his gaze on the shorter one of his friends. Eddie was glaring daggers at Richie from across the lake. It would’ve been cute if he didn’t look worried and one step away from bolting away from him.

“He thinks I’m sick, doesn’t he? No wonder he’s all the way over there. Tell him not to worry Stan the man, it’s not contagious.” and his mom got it last night when- Richie tried the inappropriate mom joke in his head and cringes. _Damn, no wonder everyone was so fed up with him_.

“No, dipshit! No one thinks you are sick, we’re just trying to understand why our friend doesn’t seem to like us anymore!” Richie hadn’t seen him so worked up since his bar mitzvah. And if he’s being honest, this shouldn’t even be something to be worked up about _. You behaving like a normal fucking being shouldn’t freak everyone out so much_. But then again, he was fucked up, and it didn’t matter what Richie did to hide it. Rotten claws always find their way to the light.

“It’s nothing Uris, don’t worry about it.” Apparently it was the wrong thing to say because Stan froze with the cigarette halfway to his lips, his brown eyes trying to get away from his face. _Ha! Suck that depression, he was still funny._

“What’s, hum, what’s your favorite drink, Chee?” And wow did that whole phrase stung like a motherfucker.

_Yeah, Chee, what’s your favorite drink? I guess we can scratch chocolate milk off the list, right? And probably orange juice too, OH! NO WAIT I KNOW! It’s… Bacardi isn’t it? Bacardi, Bacardi, please help!... it’s Bacardi rum HA!_ he was a crazy, fuck Richie already knew that he wasn’t fully there in the head, but having a little voice in his head taunting him and bringing him closer and closer to... well Richie knew he needed help but Stan was his best friend and accepting it was Bacardi would bring Stan or Richie himself, to a panic attack, at least.

It was a stupid thing really, Stan found him once, back when they were younger. Richie was shirtless and dangling his legs off the quarry cliff, with bloodshot eyes and shaking as his friend took in the scene before him. Richie had an empty, broken bottle of rum by his side. They littered his back with yellow bruises and slight cuts. Stan hadn’t seen his face yet, but he could bet his savings he had bruises there too.

What really threw him off the loop though, was hearing Richie murmur under his breath how much he wanted everything to end.

Stan didn’t know what to do, so he just draped himself around Richie and held him until he stopped crying. _‘What’s your favorite drink Chee?’_ asked Stan, trying to get his, usually talkative, friend to speak. Richie just let a self-deprecating smile break through his sobs and whispered Bacardi. they both huffed out a laugh but then he confessed that he _‘just wanted her to let go of the bottle Stanley, I was scared’,_ Richie whispered once the tears dried and his hands stopped shaking.

So that thing stuck between them, and ever since then Stan would only have to ask that fucking question and it’ll work better than a beep, beep ever could. So he just sat up, grabbed Stan’s hand and swiftly said “Bacardi.” it felt like being punched in the gut and having your breath kicked out of you all in one go. If the face Stan was making was anything to go by, he was in deep. But then again, it was nothing he already didn’t know.

“You’re going home with me tonight, I don’t care what you may have to say about it.” He kept his gaze trained on their friends, but his grip only got tighter. Richie is sure Stan would’ve flipped on him if it wasn’t for Eddie, who was making his way over to them with an eyebrow raised. “Why are you two holding hands, Stan? Are you fairies?” Any other time Richie would’ve had at least five jokes to answer that, each one more gross than the last one, but not now.

Now he feels like a cracked vase ready to burst at the tiniest pressure. So he avoids eye contact and tries to let go of Stan, but his friend has other plans and just holds Richie’s hand and stares down at Eddie.

“Eddie what the fuck? Is there a problem if we are?” Anyone who knows Stan knows he’s not confrontational. It doesn’t matter How much he would argue with Richie about anything and everything, he wasn’t confrontational at all. But Richie is his best friend, he has been for a long time now, and Stanley is protective of the people he loves, not that he would ever say that to Richie’s face, he’d rather not, thank you very much. But he knows about his struggles with his identity, not necessarily because Richie’s told him, but because he knows his friend, has seen how Richie’s gaze sometimes lingers on a boy from school, and how often he’ll recoil from his friends’ touch after that, like he’s ashamed of that part of who he is, like they somehow could find out just by touching him.

So maybe he knows Eddie meant nothing by it, he knows they like to joke around too much. But now Richie is shaking, and he seems like he’s about to pass out... and fairies? The fuck Eddie, really?

“I don’t... I mean, I’m sorry? I didn’t get the memo you had a stick up your ass, jerk” Eddie huffed angrily, but his gaze didn’t leave Richie. Who refused to look up until Eddie kicked him softly to get his attention.

“What’s up, Richie? Why so quiet?” Eddie sat down by his side and even though they weren’t touching, Richie moved more into Stan’s space. The two friends noticed and frowned, it wasn’t normal for Richie to not want to be close with Eddie. They’ve always been closer, closer than what would have normally been deemed as just ‘friends’, but none of the boys seemed to care and their friends never questioned anything.

The only time they purposely weren’t at arm’s length was when bowers and his goons decided it was a good idea to make Richie an example to the whole school of what is the ‘treatment’ of queer people and beat him up in the lockers room after PE. So Richie, being the self-sacrificing idiot that he is, decided Eddie was in danger because of him, and took matters into his own hands (quite dumb ones, but okay). ‘Cutting’ ties with Eddie for a good two months, without letting him know why this was happening. Eventually Eddie got fed up with the whole situation and confronted Richie about it, they both cried and cuddled on Richie’s bed whispering ‘ _I’m sorry’_ and _‘don’t leave me again’_ until they both passed out. They were extra clingy the next week, compensating for everything that went down, and there was that.

So for Richie to pull away from Eddie’s strangely initiated touch... well he doesn’t know what to make of it, but it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. “I… I’m okay Eddie, no germs are being spread over here.” Richie tried to joke, but it came out flat toned.

“Okay, so let’s just act like I believe that bullshit for a second, why are you cowering away from me? Was it bowers again? because I swear this time, I’ll fucking kill him.” Richie couldn’t help but laugh at the ball of anger that is Eddie. He shakes his head and stands up. “No, but your mom should be missing me by now, so I better get going.” He says but Before Eddie could scream something in response Stan lifts himself off the ground and looks defiantly at Richie. “We better get going then rich, you said you’d help me with chem.” _Fuck Stan, seriously_.

“Are you going now? But we’re supposed to go to bill’s later” Eddie was confused, at least that’s what he told himself as Richie just shrugged and waved. _I’m just fucking confused_ , he thinks as Richie and Stan start going up the hill to the top of the quarry. “I’m so damn lost,” he mutters to himself as Stanley takes Richie’s hand again and Richie moves closer to him.

“Fuck Richie, he can go and fuck himself. No, you know what? _fuck Stan, seriously_ , who the fuck does he think he is.” Eddie was fuming, as if that’s new, but he knows he shouldn’t. Richie can be best friends with whoever he wants, _‘yes, because that’s why you’re so pressed, best friends my ass.’_ but Eddie doesn’t own Richie, he knows that, and that’s okay. And he doesn’t want to, he’s not like his mother.

But it used to be him by Richie’s side, it’s Eddie’s house Richie always stayed in after all their friends had left, it’s his hand Richie liked to hold under the table when they were out in some restaurant.

So, fucking sue him if he didn’t understand why Richie suddenly stopped spending time with them and when he finally does, Stan gets to touch him and be with him in a way he’s clearly stated he doesn’t feel comfortable being with Eddie anymore.

Stan and Richie walked the entire way back to Stan’s house hand in hand. Maybe if Richie didn’t feel like he was about to give up at any minute, he would have let go, because this is Derry, and like any other small town, everyone is an idiot who hates everything that’s different. And Richie’s... well, he is the whole damn profile. so normally he tries to minimize the impact his presence may create on his friends’ life. He had taken too many punches for Eddie or stuttering Bill, not only diverting their bullies’ attention to him, but behind closed doors too. Those are things he would never tell his friends about, mostly because it’ll just make them feel guilty but also because having to beg Bowers to not touch Eddie because _‘please he can’t breathe, he’s asthmatic, please’_ while he’s shove to the ground and made to stay still and take it while Henry takes his fucking psychopathic tendencies out on his body, is embarrassing. Not because he has dignity (god forbid him, ha!) But because Richie is six feet tall, and he shouldn’t have to beg, he knows, technically, he can easily overpower Bowers’ short ass, but he doesn’t, because they’re right, he is a fucking coward.

“Okay what’s wrong?” They were laying side by side on Stan’s bed. Richie’s head on his stretched arm and some indie rock band playing in the background. Stan feels his friend tense up before reaching for his pack of cigarettes, tapping a rhythm he doesn’t recognize.

“You know I’ve always been fucked up since I was a snotty kid, right? My parents are assholes, and I know I’m annoying and a lot of work, but lately I’ve felt… disconnected, almost like I’m seeing the world through a glass and just shitty but it’s okay Staniel, I’m all right, nothing a little bro-time with my favorite bro can’t fix.” Richie was being serious and it always worries Stan like nothing else, he knows almost every side of Richie, has seen him on those weird occasions when he’s calm, when they’re down at the quarry and he gets to unwind; or when he’s stressing over something. Most times, if Stan’s honest, that’s when the crude jokes and voices come out, when he crosses lines and can’t seem to stop pushing buttons. But when he gets like this, quiet and mournful, like he’s already lost something, that’s when he knows his friend needs him, has seen him fidget when someone touches his arms or thighs. Stan has never asked why, not because Richie won’t tell him, but because he fears the answer, so he ignores the joke at the end of Richie’s little rant and holds him a little closer.

“Why have you been avoiding them? You said you would talk to them.” it may have been a month for the others, but Stan was at his door by the third day of Richie running away from them in school, knocking and demanding an explanation. _“I swear to god Richie; I’ll kick this door down if you don’t open the door. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, stop ignoring me, you piece of shit!”_ At the end Richie let him in, because of course he did, and they played video games all night, Stan asked nothing, but Richie felt at peace.

“I don’t know, sometimes I can’t get my head straight, and being around the losers makes me feel like I’m crazy” Richie tried, but could only manage strangled answers that would leave them looking at him like he was wrong _‘you should never have been born! You’re the abort I was too scared to commit.’_ and he had to get away.

“You know, Eddie seems really concerned about you, he’s driving me up the walls with questions,” stand wiggles his eyebrows at him, but Richie only shrugs.

“He’s just scared I’m dying and he’ll get sick somehow,” Richie said, even if hope was blooming in his chest, _‘you know he’s not filthy like you are, filthy... filthy fag, why can’t you end yourself tonight’._

Richie never intended to feel this way, but not falling for Eddie kaspbrak was impossible, one of the kindest person he’s ever met, he even is kind with Richie, that knows he deserves nothing good, but Eddie’s also clean… _‘pure’_ , oh how much he hates that word... pure, like Richie hasn’t been in a long time, like mother likes to remind him so often how he’s not. But Richie can’t describe Eds like anything else, he’s ‘loved’ by his mother, even if it’s in a fucked up way, everyone on the losers loves him, and Richie would give up his life for him, yet he knows his kind of love would never be welcomed so he’s learned to hide it away and he’s good at it, everyone believes that Richie is as straight as a ruler, everyone but Stan, the fucker.

“I don’t know rich, give Eddie more credit, he really cares.” Stan knows not to pressure Richie, even more so when he’s this... volatile, but fuck it, he deserves good things, and Stan would be damned if he would let him self-sabotage his entire life.

“Please, can we not talk about him, not now Stan, he doesn’t care for me like that, and I need to learn to live with that so let’s leave it there.” It hurts Richie to say it out loud, but it’s the truth, Eddie’s one of his best friends and he needs to have him in his life, whichever way he can.

“Okay Chee, we’ll do it when you’re ready… just, I love you, and you aren’t wrong or whatever it is you’ve made yourself believe,” Stan whispered while raking his nails through Richie’s hair.

“And I don’t know what I would do without you,” Richie says honestly, he at least feels like Stan cares, and if it wasn’t for him, Richie probably wouldn’t be there.

“Good thing you’ll never find out, now let’s go down, I can smell food.” They raced downstairs and ate homemade burgers with fries. Stan’s parents love Richie like their own, and even if they didn’t know the entire extent of his ‘situation’, they always made him feel welcomed.

“Are you boys going out tomorrow? I heard the fair is in town,” Stan’s mom asks while serving Richie a second hand of fries.

“Yes mom, we’ll meet at bill’s in the morning,” Stan says, stealing fries from Richie’s plate. “Then remind me to give you both some money before you go, and stop stealing Richie’s food, god knows he needs it.” Stan rolled his eyes as Richie smirks. After that, they went to bed and Richie could sleep through the night.

“RICHIE! Wake your lazy ass up, we will be late,” Stan was laughing while jumping on top of Richie. “I hate you,” he whispers. Trying to roll him over, Stan laughed harder but moved to the side.

Richie got out of bed and Stan threw him some of his clothes. “Of course you hate me, now go take a shower and get dressed, Eddie’s already asking for you in the group chat.” Richie ignored him to go into the bathroom. After having breakfast and Stan’s mom making them promise to be careful, Richie got in the back of Stan’s bike and they went to Bill’s home.

When they arrived at his driveway, there were five other bikes ‘parked’ on his lawn.

Stan pushes Richie off the bike and lies on the grass. “you Bigfoot… you absolute giant, you’re driving to the fair” he choked out, making the other boy laugh while pulling him up. “Oh darling, there’s only one drama queen in this duet, and that’s me,” Richie said in a horrendous English accent. “God lad, you’re awful” Stan said in an almost perfect accent.

“you’re not fucking fair fucker, it’s not nice being that perfect,” Richie exclaims as Bill opens the door.

“Well, if it isn’t Richie stating the obvious,” Bill dodges Stan’s hands as they come through the hallway and into the living room where everybody was sprawled around. “What’s the obvious?” Bev was half on top of Mike and the couch. While the boy carefully braids her long hair. Richie saw Eddie by the loveseat, their usual place when they had movie nights. But after yesterday he opts for flopping down on top of Ben, who huffs and nudges him.

“Oh nothing Bev, just how Stan is obviously the alpha male in this orgy,” Everyone groans and gags at that. “Richie don’t tempt me asshole or you’ll sleep on the floor tonight,” Stan threatens Richie who only laughs, relieved because Stan’s planning on “making,” him sleep in his house again.

“Why? Did you sleep at Stan’s house last night?” Mike asks, making Eddie tense up. It’s none of your fucking business dumbass, he doesn’t owe you anything. It doesn’t matter if Eddie’s rational part knew that. His stomach and his fucking butterflies begged to differ.

“What, did you think he has this much style?” Stan laughs at Richie, who rolls his eyes but stands and turns around for everyone to see his outfit. “Maybe I don’t Studley, but I sure make it look better than your flat ass does,” he ends it with a twirl and sends a kiss to Beverly, who laughs and whistles.

“Whatever idiot, you know what? I wasn’t gonna mention this, but you hog the blankets,” Stan say but Eddie isn’t listening. He already knew that, he knows Richie hogs the blankets and pillows and even the fucking bed, he also knows how relaxed and soft he gets when he’s falling asleep, how Richie sometimes would just hold Eddie or intertwine their hands, how in the mornings he’ll ask for five more minutes, and even though Eddie always sighs, he would lie down again and just watch him sleep.

“Eddie?” He’s jerked out of his thoughts by Ben, who’s watching him like he’s some kind of puzzle. Eddie shakes his head to clear his mind, “I’m sorry, what was it?” He asks trying not to look at Richie sitting on top of Ben. “Did your mom give you money for the fair?” Ben asks, the losers club avoids the whole _‘your mom doesn’t want you to leave the house and since you stood up to her, she’s begun trying other ways to keep you inside,’_ but Eddie knows it’s a problem. Not only because he has to sneak off almost every day. But also because more often than not Eddie would show up so pissed off that not even Richie could handle him.

“No, she didn’t, she swears I’m by the pharmacy picking up some shit for her. Luckily for me I had some money saved up that I plan on spending on the fucking death tramp of a roller coaster there,” Eddie explains and they all laugh except for Richie who seems to be deep in thought.

They get ready to leave for the fair, and Richie gets close to Eddie. “I can share some of my money with you, if you’d like, I mean Stan’s mom gave us both enough money to rent the whole damn place anyway.” he scratches the back of his neck, a sign that he’s uncomfortable or anxious about something, _suck me Stan, I know Richie too_ , but honestly fuck that. Richie doesn’t get to act like he suddenly cares.

“No thanks, I don’t think Stan would like that.” Richie is fucking lost, that’s what he is, just lost, since when does Eddie care about where Richie gets his money? He’s always spent his money on Eddie, and he’s never had a problem about it, “What?” Richie stiffens.

_maybe he realized why you do it and he’s disgusted, as he should._

“What you heard, and either way I have my money, but thanks for offering.” Eddie pushes past him and Richie feels cold all over.

“Rich, you both okay?” Mike asks from the front door, he shrugs. “I’ll be right back, don’t worry that pretty-.” _fuck and you wonder if Eddie knows? You’re desperate for it, fag._ “I’m gonna grab something quick, be right back Mikey,” Richie corrects while walking into the kitchen where Stan was drinking water.

“I can’t do this Stan, I will go, I can’t I- “. Richie knows he’s about to have a full-blown panic attack but he can’t breathe. Stan drops the cup on the countertop and rushes to his side, taking him down and putting himself between the wall and Richie’s back. “What is it, Chee? breath with me, in for four, hold for four, out for four, come on.” They wait until Richie’s relaxed in Stan’s arms, still and quiet. “What happened, Richie? You were better this morning,” Stan asks, but Richie just shakes his head, feeling panic rise again in his throat.

“He knows, Stan. He fucking knows, and he hates me, and I don’t blame him, but it hurts and what the fuck am I supposed to do? It’s not like I’m not trying to be normal but I can’t, I’m a fucking freak and-“ he stops when mike sits down in front of them, Richie pales and starts trying to explain, but his friend isn’t having it.

“You’re not a freak, Richie,” Mike whispers and he can feel Stan nodding. he’s too worried about Eddie to panic about him finding out, so Richie breathes out and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back on Stan’s chest. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t feel comfortable, but know that we care and we want to help,” he adds. Like the fucking perfect friend that he is, Richie shrugs, trying to figure out what happened. “I’m not even sure? I just asked Eds if he wanted to share my money so he wouldn’t have to spend his, and he said something about Stan not being okay with that? Or some bullshit like that. But I know it’s not that, I’m sure he knows that I-that I..., and he’s disgusted and he doesn’t want to be near me and I’m sorry, I am, I’m trying to be better but I can’t and it sucks, I just want it to end hurting,” Richie says anxiety and desperation coming out in one fast breath, he taking note of mike’s expression, ready to run if he has to.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that, maybe his mom-“ Stan is interrupted by Eddie himself coming through the door. They all freeze for a moment, before Richie clears his throat. “err we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave now,” Eddie blurts out, they all nod and he goes out again. “you’re fine Richie,” Stan whispers and Richie closes his eyes, Mike hugs him swiftly.

They were “racing” down the street well, everyone except Richie and Stan, who was screaming at Richie and hitting his back for driving too fast, Bev laughed from her position at Ben’s back but Stan noticed Eddie sulking. He didn’t know what to think, on one hand he wanted to believe none of his best friends were homophobic, but they all knew Eddie’s mom, and even though he’s been going out of his comfort zone a lot, maybe he found some… ideals ‘acceptable’. And even if he would deny it to Richie, there wasn’t another reason for Eddie to react like that to him. They all love Richie, they love how he shows who he is without shame, but the only thing Derry people find more disgusting than self-love is gays, and sadly Eddie still is from Derry just like every loser.

“There’s no fucking way I’m getting on that deathtrap, just no way.” the losers weren’t surprised with Eddie’s change of attitude and only laughed at their friend’s refusal. “Eddie come on, just once and we’ll go home, it’s getting dark now,” Bill says while dragging him to the to Eddie’s dismay, quick line.

“I hate you all, know that and never forget it,” he pouts and they all take their seats. With Mike at the end by himself, Eddie clutches Bev’s hand and focuses on Stan’s back. The roller coaster goes up, and he catches Richie looking down at the ground almost transfixed by the view, he tries to shake the feeling of uneasiness but Richie doesn’t stop looking until they’re at the highest point, where he makes a move as if to stand up. Eddie is about ready to scream bloody murder when Stan notices and yanks him back onto the seat, Eddie can’t hear over the rush of the wind as they’re coming down but Stan tightens his grip around Richie’s shoulders and rest his head against him, and by the time Eddie realizes, the cart’s stopped and everyone is getting off the ride.

“Eddie you good? I thought you’d scream your way through it,” Beverly snickers, but Eddie just nods his head and focuses again on his friends. Eddie hasn’t realized until now but Richie’s trembling softly under Stan’s arm as they talk in hushed tones, Richie Whispers something and Stan’s entire frame locks up before turning to the group, without letting go of Richie. Eddie notices _, of course you ‘noticed’, Richie’s clearly affected by something but you only care about what you want, Needy boy... needs his mom_ \- Eddie shuts the thought quickly, he learnt to ignore his mother’s voice or anything it may resemble a long time ago.

“Guys, we gotta get going, my mom’s gonna freak if we’re not there by seven,” Stan says and everyone nods, but there’s silence for a moment, as if someone was supposed to fill it. Eddie feels dread freezing his veins and wonders if Richie ever feels like he’s just there to fill spare spaces, Eddie can only hope his friend knows how much his silence hurts.

At the end everyone but Stan and Richie stay at bill’s house, Bev suggest a movie and Eddie sits on the loveseat without thinking, memories of a warm past flashing through his head, of skin too sticky to be pressed together but arms touching either way, of flushed cheeks as he wakes up on Richie’s chest on a movie night, soft laughs as they watch their friend’s fight for the couch, unbothered by their shared space.

“What’s on your mind, Eddie? You’ve been quiet,” Ben asks him. “Yeah, I’m just I don’t know, I’m tired I guess.” No one believes him, he knows that, but it’s not like he can tell them the truth, it’s never worked out well for people like him, _cowards Eddie, say it with your whole... fragile... chest_ (well fuck you too, mum). Edie knows it’s stupid to have your inner voice be the person who hurt you the most, but he can’t help his twisted brain.

“Richie seems better? I don’t know, I think he may have been talking with Stan this whole time, b-but even he was w-w-worried today.” Bill picks up the conversation after that and Eddie curls into his seat, tuning out everything about them, eventually falling asleep and dreaming of curls breaking through the smoky haze.

Richie sits on Stan’s windowsill, his third cigarette hanging limp between shaking fingers, and skin breaking in goosebumps from the cold as he hums a haunting song as old as time itself.

He doesn’t notice, but his friend is watching him by the bed, waiting for a sign and ready to bring him back.

Later, much later for either of the boys to be awake, Richie goes back to bed and rolls on his side holding his Breath with glossy eyes and trembling from the cold freezing his bones. Stan hugs him from behind, humming a brighter song for Richie while pushing down the covers because it really was a warm summer night.


	2. A town without memories…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is cursed to repeat its history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for minor character death; described violence/gore and homophobic slurs.

The only sound breaking through the night white noise was that of rapid splatter bouncing off the canals... ricocheting inside the sewers beneath Derry, at the beginning like a person strolling through the place from time to time but quieting soon enough, going almost unnoticed, and the ones who heard it never thought much of it… but time passed and it grew and revitalized, lying dormant less and less with each passing day, feeding on the fear and darkness that the ancient town exudes, until his laugh could be sensed up in the children's rooms.

The first one, eight years old Sam Moore, was taking a bath when it began… he heard a carousel at first, then there were children laughing, a clown's song and the _pop... pop... pop,_ the smell invaded his senses, he could almost feel the heat in his hands from the box and the crunch of freshly made popcorn, but before he could wonder where was all of this coming from, his mother took him out of the bath, "come on darling, we have to get you dressed, god knows you catch a flu over nothing." His Ma kissed his head and walked out of the bathroom, Sam on her tail, but he was the only one who caught the "bye Sammy…" whispered from the sink accompanied by frantic laughter.

Sam woke up sweating, having been dreaming of unhinged jaws and yellow eyes. From his open door, he could get a glimpse the bathroom and a silver of light coming from underneath the white door, "mama?" He waited for an answer but after a while he stood up, taking the teddy bear that his father got him for when he got scared ' _so even if it's dark, you have someone to go with you to the toilet'_ it was just one night that he didn't make it on time, but Sam loved it and took him everywhere with him.

Sam crocked the door open a bit and poked his face inside the little room, no one was there, he shuffled through the slit and moved the wooden box his mama bought to help him reach the sink, he put his bear by the bath and one leg after the other he got on top of the box and grasped the faucet, "Sammy? Is that you?" The small boy whipped his head around, searching for the voice, but was only met with the dark, lonely hallway.

"Here, in the sink, silly." he sat on his knees and leaned over it, putting his eye close to the little hole in the center, "hello? Who are you?" Sam asked. Not being able to see much through the tunnel.

"I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown!" A song started playing too, but the boy only pushed closer, wanting to find where it came from, "I can't see you." he put his hands around his mouth, connecting them to the hole and trying to amplify his voice, shaking a little from moving too much on top of the box.

"Oh, you only had to ask." Sam hears him laugh and bright lights lit the pit, he sees the little man beaming at him, he was dressing like a clown and had white pasty skin, his eyes were too big, but mama told him not to judge people by how they looked. "Can you see me now?" Sam nodded and Pennywise clapped his hands.

"Why are you there?" The little boy questioned, and the clown pouted, flopping to the floor, "because no one wants to be my friend Sammy." He sounds sad, making the child feel bad. "I can be your friend!" He exclaimed, missing the smirk the clown made before throwing his hands in the air, "Really? You would do that for Pennywise?" Sam nodded again, reaching for his teddy bear and bringing him close to the sewer, "look, he’s Ted, my best friend but he likes to share, we can all be best friends!" Sam cheered, and the clown smiles, expanding his clawed hands behind his back.

"But why are you so small Mr. Pennywise?" Sam missed the clown's eyes switching colors, setting into bright yellow things and sharp edges, "you prefer to see me like this... Sammy?" and suddenly, all hell broke loose.

The thing in the sewers expanded as a fire, coming through the gap like jelly and hovering over the little boy toppled over from the fright. "come on Sammy let's play," it screamed, unhinging his jaw, showing rows of sharp teeth and a long tongue, the kid scrambled out of its reach but Pennywise Closed his fangs over one of his legs, ripping it clean off and spraying the bathroom walls red.

“Come here little bitch, I’ll give you your medicine.” The kid was screaming and crying, trying to get away from the sink, but the blood made everything slippery, tripping him over and over, Pennywise laughed and dove for the other leg when the door slammed open and Sam's parents rushed in, his mother screamed at the sight of his boy drenched in blood but the father kneeled, wrenching a towel off the hanger and pressing it over Sam's hip, “CALL 911, Veronica, call fucking 911!” He screamed and the woman threw herself into the hallway and down the stairs for the phone.

"it’s okay champion, I'm here, daddy's here." He shook his son, but the body in his arms laid idle. The only signs of life were the faint and lazy movement of his breathing and his whitened gaze flickering.

a haunting image only paralleled by the screams and growls coming from the sewer miles away from the house where a contorting figure kneeled, tearing at his empty stomach, laughing in between shrieks.

It wasn't much later when It struck again, his hunger clawing at his chest, making him careless and vile, kids started going missing, sometimes their unmade beds and bloody footprints were the only traces of their abduction, unlike others where they found human pieces lying around on the children's room, scenes taken straight from horror movies, leaving their parents clutching each other and begging for everything to be a nightmare.

Next, as if they weren't enough to satisfy his cravings, drunks disappeared into thin air, abusive scumbags never made it back home, making their women the prime suspects, _"She has a motive! Look at her! The poor bitch has her whole face busted up",_ but nothing ever came out of it, they had alibis, time frames, some even brought their lovers to testify on their favor, leaving investigators frustrated and confused… until one of them came face to face with It.

Michael Capone was a thirty-five-year-old private investigator working for the Allan family after their daughter's disappearance last month. He was on his way back to the town's Inn, thinking of taking a shower and going out to grab something to eat when he picked up a noise behind his back, he turned around but was met with an empty alleyway, exhaling he promised himself a day off, feeling like he would lose his mind.

He noticed an eerie coldness to the air, unusual for the start of summer, but didn't think much of it. "fucking factories messing up everything for everybody," Michael thought, reaching for his pocket when footsteps and what he could only describe as hysterical laughter came from his left side.

He had his gun out instantly, twisting around, trying to see through the dark, “who is it!? I carry!” He was met with more laughter and from the corner, he saw a figure forming “Oh you're a _fed_ now sissy?” It mocked him, making the man turn white like he'd just seen a ghost, “It’s not real... this isn't happening, it can't be,” Michael whispered, putting his hands in front of him he started counting his fingers as the psychiatric told him to, avoiding looking at the figure advancing towards him.

the shadow moved sluggishly, almost drunk, it mimicked taking a gun to its head and the moment the shadow was about to pass a lamp Street, a shooting sound was heard and its head rolled to the side, Michael jumped at the sound and whipped his head up only to notice that there was nothing there.

"Where are they? Where the fuck did, I put them!" his hands were shaking while trying to search his pockets for the green pill he always carries everywhere, not knowing when a clusterfuck episode would happen, such as whatever he just hallucinated. his finger grazed the pill as a pair of clown shoes appear by the place where the figure vanished. " _Hurry Mitch or uncle will BLOW YOU OFF AGAIN, Little pansy!"_ Something screamed at him, making him drop everything and turn tail, running down the pathway and into the Inn. " I’ll blow you off Mitch, I’ll eat you up real good _!"_ It yelled. But when he turned back, the only sight was a little teddy bear propped up in the middle of the street.

The investigator ran up to his room locking it as soon as he got in, closing the curtains and blocking the door with the desk chair, Michael threw the bathroom door open and kneeled by the toilet, throwing up until the only things going up his throat were droplets of blood mixed with vile.

The next day he only went down to pick up the bear still laying on the street, with its black eyes taunting him, and to tell the receptionist at the front desk not to disturb him. Two days later, his room looked like a crime scene, with the bed unmade and the covers on the floor, where he had been sleeping. The bathroom reeked of puke, and there was unfinished food lying around on every surface.

Michael was dozing off propped up on a wall, with a gun in his right hand, and the teddy bear sitting on a chair facing him, when there was a knock on the door, he sat up, tightening the hold on his Glock 43, Michael opened enough to find who was it.

Connor was on the other side, with a coffee in each hand, and what looked to be a bag of donuts. "There's been another disappearance Mitch," his partner told him while Michael let him in, Connor took notice of the mess but didn't comment on anything and just opened the window and lit a cigarette. "I've had a couple of rough days," he rasped out.

"Where d’you get that thing?" Connor pointed at the toy, Michael shrugged not wanting to sound like a crackhead but his friend seemed determined to find out, "Michael you don't get it, that fucking torn up bear was the only thing missing from the first scene." His blood turned cold, recalling Sam Moore's father's declaration, stating that nothing but his son's teddy got taken out of the house that night.


	3. Eddie's dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mommy's fairest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for racism, anti-Semitism, and homophobia (it's verbal and vague)
> 
> Nothing too bad or graphic,
> 
> Enjoy 🌻

Eddie sat on his bed folding clothes for the second time that morning. His mother had been pestering him since summer started. And his situation with Richie didn't help his nerves, making his behavior edge on erratic. Even if he took some of the antipsychotics his mother 'prescribed' him with.

Since the fair a month or so ago, they hadn't crossed over five words at a time. It was worrisome. The fear of Richie finding out about his unrequited feelings and being so disgusted by them that he decides he can't be his friend anymore. And the fact that Richie looked worse every time they crossed paths.

In the beginning, the changes were almost unnoticeable to everyone but Eddie. Who's been focusing half of his attention on Richie since they first met. He saw Richie become jittery whenever one of the losers would say something about his lack of commentary. But Richie would brush it off soon as if to not raise suspicion. Other times he was on the other side of the spectrum. So closed off and tensed up that Eddie feared he would shatter in front of his eyes. But everyone swept it off as ' _Richie doing Richie things'._

It used to infuriate Eddie when no one else seemed to care or even perceive Richie's behavior. But after a while, he realized that Eddie knew of these changes only because Richie let him. He was the only one who saw his mask crack a little day by day. He saw Richie close himself off to everyone else, everyone but Eddie.

And even though he could still see Richie for what he was, their touches started to be fewer and far in between. Their hushed conversations stopped. Eddie tried to reach out, but it only ended up in his friend recoiling more into himself. It hurt, he would not deny it, but he didn't push Richie because Eddie knew him, and he's not good with pressure.

It was almost as if Richie had shut down. But his _thing_ with Eddie was so natural to him, he didn't even recognize it as something to cut off. Eddie felt warm all over when he thought about it.

But then Eddie noticed Stan. A pang of jealousy always comes up when he thinks about them. And what is worse is that he can't hate him. He's known him for as long as he's known Bill. Stan has always stood up for him, he offered his home when Eddie fought with his mom! He doesn't have a bone in his body stupid enough to hate Stan. they were all losers but he was almost by choice alone and they knew it.

Eddie knows Richie's more than well taken care of with Stan. But it doesn't make it cut any less deep, Eddie knows, but knowing things doesn't help him feel better about them. It still burns when Eddie sees Richie relax under Stan's touch. When he closes his eyes and sighs as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders. After a while, he decided that if what Richie needed was for Eddie to stop touching him, then that's what he would do. Because even if it felt like he was having a panic attack sometimes. There was nothing Eddie wouldn't do for Richie.

"Eddiebear, food is served." Sonia's gangly voice bounces off the walls, making Eddie tense his jaw. He didn't know when he saw his mother's true face. ' _yes you do coward'._ But after that day, he couldn't hear her voice without wanting to scratch his brain free of what? he didn't know either. 'Y _ou know that too little wheezy.'_ But the point stood.

He went down and ate in silence. Sonia wasn't eating. She rarely eats with him nowadays, only on special occasions. She sits facing him, grinning and watching. Eddie couldn't believe he didn't figure it out sooner. _'You need to eat Eddie; you know you're anemic.'_ Sonia would remind him every time he said he was full. She used to put more food on his plate and wait for him to finish _._

But he wasn't anemic or underweight for that matter. He knew he wasn't. It didn't matter how many times he's had to fight his brain over his health, he knew because of Richie. Of course, it was thanks to Richie.

They were fourteen when Richie first jumped off the quarry, with only a big dumb smile on his face and his broken glasses as lifeguards. They all held their breaths while their friend flew down. But Bill was undressing and plunging off the edge before Eddie could see Richie's body float back out of the clear water. After they heard laughter from beneath them one by one the remaining losers jumped down with Stan and Eddie last in line. _"you know they'll die without us,"_ his friend laughed and jumped. Eddie knew he would not leap off a fucking cliff. His friends taught him how to swim and he was good at it, but there was no way in hell, no way.

No way unless Richie, Richie fucking Tozier. Who knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be able to take the leap, swung back out and up the damn quarry with no one noticing. Only to take his hand and drag Eddie off the edge. He remembers the feeling of having no ground beneath his feet. Turning his gaze to focus on Richie because he feared the empty feeling in his stomach. Only to contemplate the sunlight bouncing off his smile and _oh, oh fuck._ But Eddie didn't have time before he hit the icy water, and suddenly he was under. He was going under, but Eddie didn't care as long as he was watching Richie and his suspended beauty underwater. His rosy cheeks and scrunched face. Eddie remembers thinking _if that was the last image he gets to see. Maybe dying wasn't as scary as his mother made it seem._

That was the first time he doubted his mother.

As Richie's hazel eyes opened, and with a soft smile he took Eddie's hand, dragging him to the surface too. That's when he knew he wasn't as broken as she wanted him to believe.

Three knocks on the window jolt Eddie out of his memories. He frowns as he notices it's almost midnight. But his curiosity wins him over and he gets up. Taking his pepper spray, he gets close enough to see a mop of curls poking around a tree branch. He huffs in frustration but opens the window regardless, "what the fuck asshole? I almost empty this entire thing in your face." He shakes the little tube for emphasis, but Richie only snickers, climbing the rest of the way into his room. "Sorry Spaghetti, wanted to visit my favorite boy." Eddie refrains from making a snarky comment about _Richie's favorite boy_ and just sighs, sitting on his bed as Richie flops to the floor.

"What do you need Richie? It's a little too late for visits, don't you think?" He doesn't want to sound petty, but seeing him act as if nothing has changed makes his skin crawl.

Eddie sees Richie tense up for a moment, but with a shrug, he's back to normal. "I can't sleep at my house tonight, figured I could crash here for a while?" It sounds like a question, and Eddie hates that. He hates to think he's made Richie feel unwelcome. But it's been so long since he's done this, and Eddie's tired and sad.

"Okay, don't let my ma see you." Richie nods and Eddie makes sure to lock the door before getting under the covers. He hears Richie whine low enough for him to question if it happened. But it isn't until his friend's getting in bed that he realizes why.

Eddie used to sleep with his back pressed to the wall. Both because he runs a little hot but also because he felt less exposed. When Richie started spending the night with him, he was fidgety and it would take a while for him to fall asleep. Eddie asked Richie, who said it was because he also slept with his back flushed to the wall, the difference? Richie did it because that way he would see his father come in before he felt him.

After that, they switched places. And Richie told him he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that safe, and there was that. Eddie would fall asleep and wake up to Richie pressed to his back almost every morning. It was normal for Eddie to still leave a space between him and the wall even after months of Richie's absence. So normal that Eddie didn't notice until he was there to fill the space again. Making him hold his breath and wish for everything to go back to how it was.

It's been twenty-nine minutes with ten seconds since Eddie and Richie laid in bed, Eddie knows this because he's counted them himself. He knows Richie's awake, can feel his breath hitch as if to move from time to time. Eddie also knows Richie's aware of Eddie's stiffness. He's tried to relax, but there are so many questions in his head that he can’t turn the damned thing off. He's resigning to a restless night when his friend starts getting up. "What now, Richie? If you have to pee a swear I'm throwing you down the stairs," Eddie says, almost smiling, almost.

"No need darling Eds, for I'm departing from thy side as of now," Richie whispers with his British accent. Switching the light on to take his shoes and hoodie. But Eddie's pissed enough to not even register his persona. _What the fuck? That's not fair, this shit is not fair_. Eddie feels like he's floating away for a moment before he's slammed back into his body again. Fueled by bitterness for this boy that seems to like him hurting and aching for his love crumbs.

"Why did you come here, then? If you're so disgusted by me. If half an hour with your _favorite boy_ -" He says the pet name with air quotes before continuing. "-is this revolting, why are you here?" Eddie feels like throwing up. His ma's half-truths are threateningly close to bursting out of his throat. He doesn't know why he let those nasty words out of his mouth, _Pride_ maybe. Even foolishness could explain why he would feel so entitled to Richie's reassurance. But he could lie all he wanted, make excuses, and mask his intentions from everybody if he felt like it. Deep down he knows he's just like his mother, a rotten needy shell of a human.

"What are you saying Eddie, Repulsive? I don't even know what the fuck does that mean." Richie's playing dumb. He's seen him complete crosswords in less than ten minutes before. Richie knows he's smart. But he also knows how to play his personas seamlessly to get himself out of any unwanted situation. And it would have tricked Eddie if it weren't for his eyes. His big watery dumb eyes. They looked panicked, darting from side to side like a caged animal.

Eddie feels like shit for manipulating Richie into feeling bad for something out of his control. He knows his feelings are creepy, and it's not his friend's fault, but it hurts so much being wrong all the time.

"Nothing, Chee I'm just tired. Close the window when you leave, and send me a message to know you're safe, if you want to that's it." He tries flipping the lights off, but Richie beats him to it. Grabbing his wrist and turning Eddie around, making him look into sad eyes filled with resignation. He wants to hug Richie until all the shadows disappear. But Eddie reminds himself that it's not his place anymore. A deep coldness cut down to his bones, his vision gets blurry and Eddie feels dread cross through his body. He will not cry in front of him, he just won’t. So he averts his gaze only to have Richie nuzzle Eddie's head towards him again. "Oh Eds, what have you convinced yourself of being this time? I'm sorry, come here darling, I'm not going anywhere." Eddie does let a whine slip past his lips at that. Accepting Richie's embrace and pressing his face to his chest while he walks them back to bed.

It's been so long since Richie's talked to Eddie like that. Since he's held him like he's Richie's entire world. That Eddie feels like he's breaking and he cries until there's nothing else. Richie's gentle touch is anchoring him and his mother's voice seems to quiet down inside his head. After what feels like an eternity, but was probably less than an hour. Richie turns around enough to pry Eddie's hands off his face and dries his cheeks with his thumb. "do you wanna talk about it, Eds?" Richie asks, and what's Eddie supposed to say? _'Yes_ _my dude, my bro, my absolute homie, I do want to confess my undying love to you, but don't hate me?' O_ r better yet. He'll tell Richie how his chest feels like it collapses on itself whenever he thinks about his pretty curls framing his face while he smokes. How at nights like this, when it's cold outside and the darkness seems to engulf everything. Eddie lets tears flow down his face because he knows this love is not going away. That even when his fragile bones are lay amongst decaying soil. This love he feels for him will keep shining through his hollow eyes.

Yeah, that sounds like top tier friendship right there.

So Eddie says nothing, he shrugs and hugs Richie tighter, afraid of this being a dream. Of this being his deranged brain playing tricks on him. **"I miss you, Chee."** He tells Richie before letting sleep take over his tired body. Not hearing the whispered **"I miss you too, angel."** Or feeling the slight shake of Richie's frame as quiet sobs start wreaking through his body.

Eddie's up before the sun rises. Years of avoiding being startled by his mother's face peering down at him like prey. Or lately, using this time to slip off without arguing with Sonia. Instead, he’s awakened by the sun shining in his face. Eddie tenses for a moment, his brain taking a second to realize who's underneath him. But once it does, he still freaks out because _what the fuck?_ He's supposed to be playing it down, not holding onto Richie like he's his teddy bear. Thankfully, he seems to be unaware of the waking world. Making it easy for Eddie to squirm his way out of bed and into the bathroom to start his routine. He hears some rustling noise come from the other side of the door. But he keeps brushing his teeth to get rid of the disgusting morning breath. After washing his face and brushing his hair a little, Eddie looks at himself in the mirror and winces. He has eye bags and his cheeks look hollow. Eddie wonders if his mother will take him to the ER to get tested. But he stops that thought before he somehow manifests it.

Richie had rolled over onto his side of the bed and Eddie takes a moment to study him. To memorize his relaxed face and the way his eyes move under his eyelids. There's some sunlight coming through the blinding. Eddie feels out of breath with the way it's hitting Richie's olive skin and radiating warmth. The covers are tangled by his hips and the silver of skin he can see makes goosebumps rise through Eddie. Thoughts of him being on top of Richie in his bed make him blush and avert his gaze. _Richie's your friend, you clusterfuck of a teenager, stop sexualizing him._

He knows he should wake Richie up. His mother is already up, and if he's here when she comes, Eddie will have a stroke. His mother's never liked his friends for idiotic reasons. She doesn't like Ben because his father left his mom when Ben was young. And that, for her narrowed point of view, is enough to conclude that there's something wrong with them. Mike is a _"dirty black whose junkies’ parents had it coming."_ Sonia only said that once in front of him. They fought until Eddie stormed out of the house. Angry tears rolling down his face as he pedaled his way to mike's farm. Eddie apologized, even if Mike didn't hear what his mother said. His friend only smiled and welcomed Eddie to stay the night. They moved inside his house and mike's grandpa made them dinner. He explained to Eddie how everyone thought like that in town. And that was the reason for his grandson being homeschooled. Eddie went down by the farm at least once a week after that. Bev is a pretty girl with male friends and somehow in Derry's twisted logic that equals to her being a whore. Stan's Jewish and that's that on that because he refuses to even acknowledge what he's overheard her say on the phone. With Bill, he's sure she feels threatened by his fearlessness and that's it. she just doesn't like them, but Richie?

Richie Trashmouth Tozier makes Sonia go off the fucking wall. He was Eddie's closest friend, but since the beginning, she's hated his guts. His presence alone could make Sonia so angry that Eddie wondered if something was wrong. He realized pretty soon that Richie made Eddie reckless in Sonia's eyes. His attitude showed him it was okay to be different. That even if in most cases it hurts, there's no hit harder than suppressing who he is. And that infuriated Sonia like nothing else. She started feeding him fears like they were candy. When he was younger, it was about comic books and how they melted your brain. Then it was _'that rock music stripped from hell',_ but when he turned sixteen her whispers turned darker too.

One night, back when Richie still slept over in his house, his mother found them lying in bed. Music on, and a bunch of comics and magazines around them. She waited until Richie was out of the room to tear Eddie a new one. She screamed and cried asking him what did she do to deserve this? As if one, she hadn't fucked him up since birth and two, like what they were doing was wrong in any way? Eddie had to laugh at that, which only made her more agitated and crude. " _he's a sick boy, Eddie, and I'm not letting him take you from me."_ Eddie felt dread freezing his body when she said that. He knew what she was referring to, of course, he knew. It bound people who are as bright as Richie to be known wherever they go. With the downside of assumption and rumors following in their wake. But it would be a cold day in hell when he'll let anyone talk like that about Richie. " _I know you're not thinking what I think you are, mother. Because I will leave this place and not look back once. You don't know shit about anything. Not me, not my friends, and certainly not my Richie. So you'll keep your fucking thoughts to yourself and we'll leave this on that.'_ " He pushed past her and ran down the stairs, hearing her scream at him, but Eddie didn't even stop to put on his shoes. He slammed the front door and leaned his head on the wood. Not wanting to give his mother the satisfaction of him hurting. _' **your** Richie, hum?' _he turned around and saw Richie propped against the wall. He had stayed. Richie stayed and listened to the entire thing. Eddie felt like crying and he apologized to Richie. Who shrugged and asked him if he wanted to stay the night with him in the clubhouse. Eddie nodded and didn't ask why Richie wasn't going to his own home that night. Looking back, he should have asked him. As well as why he didn't touch Eddie as much after that, even if he had a strong guess on both.

They stayed the night and well into the next day together. Bev's always kept snacks down in the clubhouse, and Bill left some blankets for the colder months. So Eddie and Richie were set, and after some restless hours for him, the sun rose and they joked around for a while. Making Eddie forget about Sonia or his fears.

It was one of his fondest moments to date. And one of the reasons he avoided that place since Richie started pulling back. Too many memories overwhelmed Eddie whenever he went there.

"Eds? Everything okay, bud?" Richie startled him out of his head. He was awake but still in bed, his curls over the pillow, smiling teasingly at Eddie. Who was in no mental capacity of coping with the current situation, "don't call me that! And get dressed. Your pale ass is blinding me." He wanted to facepalm against a fucking concrete wall because what the fuck? Is this how Richie's supposed to not find out about his feelings? Because it seemed like he's doing an amazing job at self-sabotaging himself.

"I'm sure it's because I'm pale." Richie laughs at Eddie, who blushes but rolls his eyes at his friend. He wants to ask Richie if he's okay, to beg Richie to let him back into his life. But his vocal cords seem to close around the words at the idea of him expressing too much concern. He's not his mother, but it's scary to think he could do to Richie what has been done to him for so long.

But he knows that this coming and going between them is hurting Eddie. It's not healthy, and he already has his mother to deal with, he can't cope with more.

It's sad because Richie wasn't a thing to 'deal' with. Eddie wonders where things went wrong. He could pinpoint the exact moment because he's not a victim in this situation. He got angry and pissy when Richie changed instead of asking why. Instead of trying to fix whatever was going on.

He knows they're at the edge of this already. It could either go good or really fucking bad. He shrugs to himself, _Who the fuck cares?_ He needs to know what's going on, otherwise, he'll go insane for real.

"Richie are you- how have you been? We haven't talked much since, well, I don't even remember." Eddie corrects himself abruptly. He can't make Richie feel attacked, he knows this dumb boy will run for the hills. Eddie stands correct when his friend stops for a moment but forces himself to relax back. "Good ol' Eds misses a poor soul like me?" Richie brings his damn accents and it makes Eddie want to scream. It's not fair, he knows he's deflecting and Eddie should be the better person, but he doesn't want to. "I don't even know why I tried." He sighs, turning to leave but Richie reaches for his wrist dropping it just as quick. Eddie turns and sees his badly concealed fear. "Don't leave, please. I swear I came here to talk, but you were angry and you looked so... ugh I hate this." Richie shakes his curls out of his face, but he seems one second away from breaking and it makes Eddie worry.

He looks up at Eddie with pleading eyes as if waiting for Eddie to pick up what he can't say.

Seeing someone shatter so easily should not be so beautiful. His glazed eyes look almost transparent with the light coming through the window. Black messy curls flounce his face and his cheeks are tinted even if he looks almost ghostly. He's sitting at the edge of the bed. His shoulders hunching over himself as if guarding something precious from the world. He belongs to a Renaissance painting and Eddie wants to cry because he's here. He's right here with him, but he can't touch him, can't hold him, can't comfort him anymore. Eddie can't do anything other than stare as his lovely boy looks for words.

"Okay look, I know I've been distant and... different, I guess. But it has nothing to do with you." Eddie feels like he got punched in the guts. Richie must have seen his face because he rushes to explain. "no! Not like that. I mean, god fucking damnit, why are you so stupid Richie." He curses under his breath, throwing his hands in the air, frustrated. Eddie giggles a little at his antics and Richie sighs but tries again. "I need you to understand that you did nothing bad. You're not making me feel bad or pushing me to do something. It's just that I know how you think Eds, and I swear you're good. You're more good to me than I deserve." He feels a weight he didn't even know he was carrying has been lifted off his shoulders. With a newfound intrigue, he sits by his friends’ side and waits. "What do you mean, Chee? You deserve good things." Eddie wanted to calm his friend down, but his words seemed to have agitated him more. Richie springs up and away from him, he feels the morning cold hit his side but pushes his feelings away. Knowing that this wasn't about him. Richie hides his head in his hands and starts pacing the room, shaking his curls from time to time.

"I don't Eds, I'm not even sure I deserve to be here" his friend chokes out. Words tripping on top of each other as if to hide the meaning of what he implied. Eddie lets an involuntary gasp break through the defeating silence. Richie flinches at the sound before searching for his jacket and his pack of cigarettes. "Sorry Eddie," he whispers and closes his eyes. Afraid of facing what he said, but Eddie has nothing to respond with. His usually overdriven brain was empty. Hypothetically, Eddie knew what to say. _"don't think like that, you're worth it, I love you."_ But nothing came out of his mouth, and his eyes were too watery to assert the situation like he always did. He was left with his feelings too close to the surface and no wall to hold them off.

Eddie got startled out of his stupor when the doorknob rattled. The sound breaks through the unforgiving wave of feelings that seem to want to suffocate him under their weight. "Eddie, open the door, what have I told you about locks?" Her voice makes Richie pale. His hands shake as he swiftly dresses himself and Eddie gets mad. He feels it boiling over and clenching his already breaking heart. But he won't let this go, he refuses to let him go. Eddie fears what Richie would do by himself in a state like this. But he also knows his mother's vile tongue won't help him. The decision is taken when he focuses his eyes on Eddie again. His gaze remorseful as he mouths a small 'sorry'. Like it's his fault Eddie has a nutjob of a mother. He reaches the window when Eddie's body catches up and he pulls the back of his jacket roughly. "Wait, Richie, please, just wait. I'll be back," he whispers in his friend's ear and lets go of him. Eddie watches him flop down in his desk chair, his entire demeanor stiff. He sighs and opens the door enough for him to squirm through. He's almost out of the room when he realizes Richie didn't even open his pack of cigarettes. Eddie turns one last time and looks at him. His head leaned back against the wall and the only sign he's alive is the muffled sound of his fingers tapping a rhythm against the box. Eddie shudders and hopes this fight with Sonia ends soon.

"What do you want, mother?" He asks once they reach the stairs. Eddie usually would have done this in the living room while he puts his shoes on, ready to make a run for it. Knowing she won't make a scene once he's out the door. But with Richie now in his room, he needs to be close enough to hear if something happens.

"Eddie please, what if something happens through the night? I need to be able to get to you, you know you have asthma." He feels panic clawing at his stomach when his thoughts match his mother's words, but he can't afford a mental breakdown in front of Sonia. So he leans against the stair railings for support and looks down at her. "I don't have that; you know I don't. I'll lock my fucking door if I want to, and I'm not arguing with you again. Today I'm going out and I don't know when I'll be back." He turns and leaves his mother staring owlishly at his back. He reaches the last wooden step when Sonia speaks again. "You know that boy is right, the only thing the kin like him deserve is hell for their sins." Eddie stops but doesn't look back. His hands are sweaty, and deep under the blinding rage he's feeling, he knows it's a bad idea. Bravery isn't his thing, it's Bill's or Richie's. Who's still in his room, who's hearing everything and believing what is being said. Hate coils at the pit of his stomach, pushing through gritting teeth. He spits back at his mother, "Maybe that's why I'm still here with you." And finishes his way up the stairs and into his room. Eddie stops and his anger dissipates when he sees Richie's tears rolling down his cheekbones. Eddie's by his side in less than a minute, he holds him against his chest and guides them down the now empty stairs. His mother's figure, illuminated by the TV lights, reflects against the wall. And he wonders for a moment if anything happened. But the wreaked boy by his side reminds him how twisted and manipulative Sonia can be. Once they're out of the house Eddie lets go of his friends but keeps a steady hand on his back. "Hey, where do you want to go? You want me to call Stan?" Eddie asks even if he feels the knife dig a little deeper inside his chest, but right now all he needs is for him to be okay. Richie shakes his head, and Eddie refuses to acknowledge the relief he feels.

"The clubhouse? Richie, please I'm so sorry." Eddie feels anxiety and remorse come back once the initial shock passes. He needs him to know it's not the truth, he needs Richie to understand nothing his mother says is true. Eddie feels horrible knowing he got stuck in the crossfire between them. But Richie just nods his head and hides his face in the crook of his neck as if this wasn't Eddie's fault.

The walk to their ' _safe home_ ', as Beverly once deemed it, was almost as excruciating as what happened back in his house. Richie was walking thanks to Eddie's arm, holding him up and leading him through the maze of houses and into the familiar green forest. When Eddie slows down to breathe again, he risks a look back at him and Richie's expression is dreadful. He feels scared of the hollow eyes that stare back at him, and he's sure there's a term to explain what he sees. _< mild detachment from immediate surroundings>._ He read once while looking up what was wrong with him and Sonia. But seeing it happen to Richie, someone so alive, makes Eddie want to hold him and keep him away from anything that would have caused him pain. _'Just like dear mommy wants to do with you, see Eddie? I'm not bad'._ Eddie closes his eyes and quiets her voice because he refuses to entertain that thought. At least not here with Richie this broken. "C'mon Chee, we're almost there," he says. Hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but his friend doesn't even flinch as they start walking again.

When they arrive, Eddie props the door open with one leg as he helps down Richie. They fall on the old couch Stan and Bill thrifted a while ago, sitting side by side as he waits for his friend to come back. Time passes and he gets worried. After a while of Richie just lying there with his pack of cigarettes clutched tight in one hand, Eddie snaps. "Richie you're scaring me." He waits, but if Richie heard something he doesn't show it. "I'm going to touch you Chee, can I? It's okay if you don't want to talk, you're okay, I'm here." He feels Richie finally move a little and nod. Eddie holds Richie's hands on his own as he moves them around a bit so that Eddie can lay Richie down on his chest. Eddie crosses their arms over his chest and holds him a little tighter to try to stop the sudden shivering. It's uncomfortable, his friend is a good head and a half taller than him. But Richie turns until he finds a cozier position for both of them. They stay quiet for a while. exhaustion crashes down on them and he feels himself drifting off. When Richie murmurs against his neck "I'm sorry, angel." He stiffens, hearing the sorrow that those three words carry. "It's okay, Richie," he whispers back and hopes the wobble in his words goes unnoticed. Eddie feels tired, his eyes almost closing and his body relaxing under the warm weight of his friend. But he shakes it off to solve this situation as soon as possible.

"Chee, you know that what my mother said is wrong, right?" Eddie asks and when Richie doesn't respond, he pushes more. "Richie you deserve the world, there's nothing but goodness in you and I hope you know that. Because otherwise, it means I've failed you." Richie shakes his arms off as he straightens. Eddie stiffens, thinking he somehow fucked this up too. But before he can ask what he did, Richie locks his gaze with his. Worried eyes dart across his face, looking for answers to a question unknown to him. He watches Richie square up as if to throw a punch. And Eddie is halfway ready to cover his face when two clammy but soft hands come to rest on his cheeks.

Their thoughts stop racing, too lost in each other's eyes, and next thing he knows, they're kissing.

Eddie's world stretches around him. He can't hear the noises outside of their little cloud but he feels the breeze moving the trees above them as though he was in the middle of it. His hands move on their own accord and rest in silky curls, but when Richie lets a breathy gasp escape his mouth at the gesture, it all shrinks down again like a balloon being popped. His stomach clenches leaving him breathless for a moment and he pushes back trying to get more noises out of this wonderful boy that somehow got trapped in Eddie's arms. Richie complies, parting his lips enough to let him in. They explore each other's mouths in a way so new to him. It leaves him hazy when they come up for air again. Eddie pushes Richie onto his back without a second thought. Years of suppressing his feelings finally unraveling, making him desperate for more. His knees frame Richie's hips and his hands on each side of his face, Eddie closes the distances again. There's more purpose this time. His head clears up enough to register Richie's soft whines every time their mouths part. Eddie feels his body on fire, and he's sure broken sounds are coming out of him too. His shirt sticks to his back and when long fingers press hard against his lower back. Eddie's thighs falter and he's pressing down against Richie's hips, and they both moan at the unfamiliar sensation. He looks down at his friend and another shiver breaks through him. Richie looks debauched, his half-lidded eyes and sweaty skin glistening against the light. And Eddie can't help but wonder how his name sounds coming from Richie's pretty parted mouth.

_'filthy, like you both faggots are'._ Sonia's breathy accent breaks through the background noise playing in Eddie's mind and he feels himself stop without thinking. Eddie is too slow to mask his sudden discomfort. And he sees Richie break through the haze as his eyes widen and realize what's happening. He's hustled off Richie's lap and onto the cold floor as his friend stands up and looks around as if to catch an audience or a camera. Eddie wants to tell him something, but the only words in his mind are his mother's remarks. "Eddie I'm... fuck!" Richie bangs his fist against his thighs. Frustration and misery breaking through the turmoil of emotions displayed on his face. "sorry, fuck, I'm so sorry." He says and shakes his head one last time before climbing up the stairs. Richie is out of the clubhouse before he can say anything. Eddie feels despair clamp at his throat and he lets a scream out before curling up on the floor. His legs pressed against his chest and shaky arms hug his knees as he lets tears fall.

His eyes catch a worm trapped between two planks at his feet, and Eddie wonders deliriously if that's how Sonia sees him as he eats every night.

  
  



	4. Paper man, rocket vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look at him now, boys. Ain't nothing like a little fear,
> 
> that'll make a paper man crumble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for graphic description and minor character death, suicide attempt (only not really, but still.)
> 
> Enjoy🌻

Shame, foul clutching shame is all Henry could feel, the three blooming blasts echoing against his lids as his father turns around and drops the gun to the side. His wet jeans making the cruel mockery drill into his shaking body like broken glasses spill blood. He hears Vic's voice far away, telling him it doesn't matter, but he can't face them now, not when he's been exposed like this. He focuses his gaze on Belch holding the stray cat against his chest as if Henry might try to shoot it again, he lets a crazed laugh escape his mouth and bends down to pick the gun and holds it against his own head, they all seem to freeze in time, "I'll show him, I'll show him what a crumbling man looks like," he crocks out. His eyes don't close when he pulls the trigger once, the strong noise slices through the field but there's no bullet busting his head open. His friends seem to come back to life and next thing he knows, Patrick's long fingers are wrenching the cold thing out of his fist and tossing it away. "If you want to die so bad I'll help your stupid ass out… _boss._ " Henry feels him laugh against his side before twirling around and getting into the car.

Henry stands still as the others follow suit, he sees Belch's fat empty hands and the sudden rage he feels almost breaches his frigid stance, Vic asks him if he wants to go with them but Henry doesn't even acknowledge him. He's not a fucking coward! There's nothing to run from and he won't give that to his father.

He's lying on the ground against a car when he sees a red balloon floating down the hill, he fixes his gaze on it. Henry stands up and slowly makes his way down, he stops startled as it seems to pause at their mailbox, but he pushes through the strange empty feeling he gets and once he's there, Henry gingerly pulls the rusted handle, revealing a small red box with no markings or address, he unravels the red ribbon and his pocket knife is laying there, unscratched, he looks around confused but no one is there. Henry notices the red balloon coming down and when it's almost at eye level it pops.

The last thing he hears is a clown's laugh coming from bared teeth.

_A burning tent flash against his eyes, he can feel the scorching heat burning his flesh and the disgusting stench seems to clog his senses. Henry wants to scream, to put out the flames consuming his body but when he opens his mouth, the only sound is the wet sound of tissue giving into the fire, he cries out when he realizes his jaw is detaching from his skull but when he moves his hands to cover his face, he's met with clown's gloves greyed from the ashes._

_Henry pulls at his legs to move and when he finally turns, all the heat is swept off of him and suddenly he's in the middle of tall grass. His hands roam his body and when he's reassured he's not on fire anymore, he breathes out and listens, there's noise coming his way but he can't see anything, he reaches for his pocket but an icy hand touches his back. "What you looking for, handsome?" a woman's voice pierces the night's silence but there's something wrong with it. He closes his eyes tightly and waits for something to happen, the clammy hands go up to his back and around his shoulders, he feels shuddering breaths against his face and a soggy tongue licks his cheek. "Open your eyes, nightingale." Bowers obliges from pure shock, he's met with whited-out eyes and oozing skin, making him trip and fall on his back, with the **thing** laughing harshly before draping itself on top of him. He pushes against it but his hands meet nothing but what feels like blood and chest bones pecking through. It shrieks, clawing at his chest and opening Its mouth to show a line of sharp rotting teeth gushing out a black liquid's, it drenches Henry with it before he can do anything. It's going down his windpipe, choking him like a vise grip from within him, he crashes against the weight, feeling despair and pure fear as the sharp pain from his lungs convulsing and giving in makes him dizzy. _

_He turns his head around and in the middle of the grass, he spots a pair of legs clasped in clown's trousers._

_He's hustled upwards and the scream of the creature bounces off white walls, extinguishing as the fire did. Henry gasps for air and a sign hanging from the ceiling lets him know he's in Derry's psychiatric hospital, room 217 opens, and from inside a well-known melody travels through the crooked door._

_'Then, once he kissed her lily-white hand_

_Twice he kissed her cheek_

_Three times he kissed her cold, corpsy lips_

_Then he fell into her arms asleep' his mother's tender voice swept through his body taking him back to when he used to sit by her side while she hung clothes up, singing to him and chasing him around from time to time._

_Henry pushes the door but stops when he sees someone with black long hair facing away at the window, mumbling the lyrics while she's rocking back and forth in a chair. He's ready to bolt but the door slams closed at behind him, the woman raises her voice once again, "For I dreamed that my bower was full of red swine_

_And my bride's bed full of blood" It laughs, clapping black grimy hands together. Henry holds himself against the door, it turns its head to flash his mother's decaying face fractured with a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. He shakes the doorknob, but it's locked, his eyes scan the room for something to defend himself with, but the only thing is the wood cross hanging by the bedframe. The **thing** is crawling its way to him, busted legs filled with maggots leaving bloody traces across the floor. Henry feels tears fall from his eyes and he shakes his head, trying to wake up, "… but Lady Margaret lay in a cold, black coffin_

_With her face turned to the wall!" It screams against his face but he refuses to open his eyes, she wrenches away his hands from his head and the fetor hitting his face makes him gag. "What's wrong, nightingale? Daddy got your eyes too?" His gaze meets hollow eye sockets, and a scream gets stuck in his throat as a yellow eye peak from behind his mother's bullet wound._

Three fireballs blind his vision as Henry comes back to his senses. The icy breeze brushes his skin, contrasting with the red gaze pinning him to the ground, a contorting clown face appears behind fangs filled mouth. "So What's it gon' be nightingale?" It whispers once he's dropped to the floor.

Henry shakes his head trying to clear his foggy mind but nothing changes, he shrugs and stands on unsteady legs. His gaze can't seem to focus on anything and the strange white and orange blob in front of him shrinks and flops to the ground. He feels almost trapped inside his body as he goes up the hill and into his house. Henry thinks he's limping, but he can't tell, his pocketknife the only solid thing he discerns amidst the grey shade that fell over his world Henry goes up the stairs and into his father's room. Where the man is sitting on a rocking chair by the window, a cigarette rests on top of the ashtray, his limp hand holding a beer carelessly. Henry circles the sleeping cop and when he's behind him takes a moment to inhale the sharp smell of gunpowder and sweat before a smirk cuts through his face.

Oscar Bowers doesn't wake until he feels a sharp pain radiating from his neck, reflexes kicking in as he drops the bottle to shove away whatever is causing the stinging sensation. He can feel blood pouring through his hands, his fleeting heart thumps against his mouth but there's no one else in the room. He tries to get up, to call for help but his neck has been severed clean through. It feels like the pain and agony lasted hours, but he's smart enough to know it's probably only been seconds. When unconsciousness starts to numb his body, Oscar's head rolls to the side, and he sees Henry's putrid eyes peering into the room from the staircase before his wife's worm infested face pops up behind his bed, the door slams closed and he prays to God he dies soon, "Is Lady Margaret in her room?

Or is she out in the hall?" She singsongs screaming while slithering towards him before everything turns black.

Henry has to go almost crawling down the stairs, he feels like a puppet whose strings are too loose and spoilt through time and use. He makes it to the front door before his body falls to the ground like a discarded costume. Henry can't feel anything, it's like a switch's been turned off, but his flesh has decomposed, and a part of his face was bitten off. Henry can't feel anything, but the cat's weight as it sits on top of his sunken chest, it prods and licks before deciding on taking a tiny piece of tongue hanging off his splintered mouth. His empty eyes watch it running off to fest into the trees and the only proof of its win is three drops of blood tainting the green ground, and Henry bowers can't feel anything else. 

Behind the fuzzy scene, the orange and white blob grows and laughs until it reaches the treetops, his filled stomach grumbles, startling the nearby birds. It vanishes as soon as it appears, but a single bird lands on the broken body laying on the front porch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though the nightingale is "the bird of love", I went with a darker meaning for its purpose as Henry's nickname (Christians used to believe its songs were the cries of lost souls longing for heaven).
> 
> And I also wanted to say that the rocket vessel was a warship, mostly used to inflict psychological terror.  
> "rockets' red glare" was how it was perceived as in the battle of Baltimore.
> 
> So yep, that's why I used those two, okay thanks bye. 🌻


	5. Dragged into the light, exposed wretched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for descriptive suicide attempt; child abuse; self-harm; homosexual slurs and transphobia.
> 
> Please be careful and if any of that triggers you, just check the notes at the end of this chapter, take care.

The sudden light made Richie stumble as he looked around the forest. He knows the way out, of course he knows, he’s the loser who’s spent the most time there. But now the shadows of the trees and the foil under his shoes feel like a trap. He doesn’t know which way to go, but he knows he has to leave. Richie hears a scream come from the clubhouse and he runs. Branches scratch his arms, but he’s too scared to notice anything. He turns right when he sees the stupid scarecrow, its head already detaching from the body and the “stay away!” sign they made last summer hangs loosely from its neck. Richie doesn’t stop running until the houses disappear behind his back and his legs burn from the exertion, he pushes through the pain, trying to forget everything… _’ everything but those soft lips, huh?_ ’ The remark blooms against his already fried mind and he trips, scraping his knees as he goes down against a tree trunk, a frustrated grunt flees his quivering mouth when his head falls against the wood.

He doesn’t know what happened; they were talking... well, Eddie was talking and saying things that weren’t true and Richie just needed him to shut up, to stop talking before his loosely glued flesh gave in and Richie’s vile truths were set free. Eddie couldn’t know what he was, he couldn’t know how twisted his mind works and Richie could feel the words pushing against his ribcage, trying to cry his whole heart away, craving closeness and understanding but he knows better than anyone that he doesn’t get to have that, he doesn’t need Sonia to tell him; he knows. _“_ T _he only thing the kin like him deserve is hell”. Hell..._ he used to fear the word a long time ago, back when dad wasn’t fucking his assistants and mom kissed his head goodnight and not a bottle. But now that nothing could save him? He would welcome it warmly if it meant feeling something other than lonely and tired, other than the coldness that froze his bones whenever his father came looking for him with the belt in his right hand and the newspaper in his left, as if turning his skin black and blue wasn’t entertaining enough to set his crossword aside.

Richie presses down into his right knee, pushing against the blood clot that has formed. He presses until there’s blood flowing down again, until he can acknowledge the tears that have been falling down his cheeks since he left Eddie behind. His fingers shake when he thinks about it, there’s still adrenaline rushing through his body, but it feels empty, like the crumbles of a high-rush. _It was cruel_ , Richie thinks. He got to feel like he was dancing, like being held in his angel’s hands, just for the rug to be pulled from beneath his bare feet. The disgust and plain fear he saw on Eddie’s face broke him, he looked so sad and confused. Richie couldn’t believe what he had done, he had taken the chance presented to him and he took Eddie’s away. He wasn’t much better than Sonia, and just the thought of that made him sick to his stomach. But there was nothing he could do. People like him and that woman were bound to sin one way or the other, and they both wanted to bring Eddie with them. Richie couldn’t blame her, not entirely, that boy was pure and light, but he would not be the one to damn him, not today and not in this life, he would take himself out before ever risking him. He reaches for his cigarettes but there’s nothing in his pockets, Richie breathes faster as he searches again and again. “No, no god please, fuck.” He stands up, a low litany of _fuck,_ and _please_ break the silence of the forest as he tries to clear his vision. The night’s fallen without him noticing. Richie looks around but suddenly he’s been engulfed by dark, a shiver runs through him and he wonders if this is how it feels.

The way back to his place takes less than he thought and as the two stores house comes into view, he sees that there are no lights on and thanks whoever for small miracles, his parents aren’t home yet. The door is unlocked, and he shuffles through and into his room before either of them arrive. Once Richie falls on his bed, his stomach grumbles reminding him he hasn’t proved food for a while, he turns on his back and tries to remember, if only to distract his mind from the empty fridge downstairs. Ben invited him over to his house a couple days ago and his mother made them pasta and then cake, Richie couldn’t eat it all, his body no longer used to that much food all at once, but Ben’s mom only smiled and packed him some more just because. He made them last until yesterday morning, when he had to throw the last helping away because even he would not eat food that expired.

He reaches for the pack of cigarettes hidden under his bed and lights one; the smoke travels down his throat and it’s as if that’s the first breath he’s taken since he went into Eddie’s room. It feels like that was years ago, when he got to hold Eddie against his chest and dry his tears. Not last night. He’s always tried not to smoke around Eddie, or at least when he’s at his home, he hasn’t told him anything about it, but Richie figures it couldn’t be easy for a hypochondriac to deal with someone else’s smoke, so he would just hold the pack whenever he felt like smoking and tried to calm his nerves, sometimes Eddie would take it from his hands and tell him how neurotic he looked, but his friend always made sure it was still in Richie’s view. The smoke coming through his mouth makes his gaze foggy, and Richie takes off his glasses to dry his tears languidly. He fucked it all up, and for what? So he could kiss Eddie once and not have him again in any way? He made himself suffer for months just to screw things up, anyway? Fuck that.

His father’s car startles him out of his mind and he curses. Usually he and Wentworth Tozier home alone never end well for him.

He hears the front door open as he lit another cigarette, Richie’s attitude doesn’t change, years of experience tend to numb everyone, but a slight shake as he holds the small tube in between his fingers tells anyone who’ll listen awful tales. He just closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable to come, there’s nowhere to run, his father sealed the window and took his doorknob a year ago, and besides that, mom made sure he knew what would happen if he was to run away again. His fingers grazed the coarse tissue just beneath his ribs at his left side, and he laughed. They could come at him. There was nothing they could do to him that Richie himself hasn’t done to his body before. “LIZZIE! Where the fuck is my food?” His father screams from the kitchen and there’s nothing Richie can do. He’s not Lizzie, he hasn’t been Lizzie for a long time, and he worked his ass off to bury any trace of her.

Richie always knew there was something different. When he was little he used to play with both dolls and cars, but as time passed, his parents worried about his lack of “femininity”. Whatever the fuck they meant; Richie could never understand. He was seven and nothing really mattered at that age, he felt good using pants and big clothes and he saw nothing wrong with that. But then he started growing and everything went to hell. He remembers the first-time blood marked his life. He cried and begged, asking God what he’s done to be so wrong, so fucked up. Month after month he hid it, hoping to keep the illusion a little while longer, but everything had to end, and for Lizzie it was the summer he went to visit his aunt and cousin.

Samantha, Sam for loved ones, was the black sheep of Maggie’s family since she was little, and as she grew up, her beliefs only got stronger. Richie got to see her once or twice a year, usually in Christmas and New year, but she always brought him pictures and stories from her protests and fights. He’s sure he only got to spend that summer with them because of Sam’s natural “femininity”. Her mother wanted to expose him to what a real girl looked like, but it backfired quickly, when one night she found her niece crying in front of a mirror. A towel covered his body tightly and dresses littered the floor. “She only packed me dresses” the broken voice made her notice the black bag Maggie packed by his feet, someone had thrown everything out and the empty bag seemed to mock both her and Richie. She spun on her feet and went into her son’s room, Shawn questioned her but she swiftly shushed him, assuring him she’ll tell him later. Once she had everything she needed Sam went into her nephew’s room again and quietly held the new clothes for him. His surprised face warmed her, and she told him to get dressed and meet her downstairs for cocoa and cookies. Soon after that she told him what transgender meant. She tried to explain as much as she could and when his eyes seemed to light up, she decided she would do everything in her power to help him.

That summer was one of his best memories. Richie met Paul, one of his aunt’s friends. He was like him, and he helped him through the fear and confusion of labelling what he felt. Sam bought him new clothes and scheduled his first appointment to get started on hormonal therapy. He remembers the last night in her house. They lit a small bonfire and ate candy until their bellies hurt. Before going to bed, Sam asked him who he was, and Richie smiled brightly. “I am Richie Tozier.” Conviction lazed his tone, and they hugged and he cried happy tears for once. Before he left, his aunt made him promise to fight, to hold on to himself and not let anyone take what was his from him.

Coming back to his house was hard. Whispering to his parents that he wasn’t Lizzie anymore, that he never was, is still one of the hardest things he has done. He heard his mother scream at her sister on the phone once they sent him upstairs, with his first burning cheek and crooked glasses. “HE’S A FREAK NOW! His father beat him for it, I hope you’re happy Samantha,” Maggie spat with anger and even though Richie couldn’t hear what his aunt said, he still remembers what she told him, and he would be damned if he would let them take it away from him.

He wonders if it would’ve been better for him to fake it, to wait until he could leave. Sometimes Richie would go down at three in the morning and look at his mother’s aged face passed away in the living room as he cleaned the mess up, and he wished for things to have gone differently. But a glance into the mirror and he’ll quickly change his mind. He remembers feeling hopeless as the church dress itched his skin red and swears to the little kid he sees in his reflection to never go back.

A sharp pain brings him back to his room, and he lets go of the cigarette with a curse. Richie dims the heat on his bedside table before his father comes through the door.

“I asked. LIZZIE, where the fuck is my food?” He doesn’t respond, he’s had to cure too many busted lips to know better. Wentworth Tozier didn’t care for the food; he probably ate with his assistant before fucking her. Richie doesn’t hate her, maybe he should, but he knows she didn’t break his family, he did. So, he takes it every night, he’ll take it like a man because that’s what he is, as much as his father hates him for it. “Oh, you wanna play dumb? I’ll leave you dumb.” A hitched breath is all the warning he gets before he feels the first hit burn his skin; he doesn’t flinch except for covering his face. His father’s belt fall against his skin until his arm gets tired, and with a last hit he turns to leave the room, “see if you play dumb again, bitch,” Wentworth spats and slams the door. Richie rolls on his side and lits another cigarette with shaking hands. His vision is blurry but at least he doesn’t feel hungry anymore, if anything, Richie can feel bile rise in his throat, he can’t stand up but he throws his head to the side quickly before he heaves. “Fuck,” Richie whispers when he sees nothing but bile on the floor. He rests his forehead on the bed again and wonders if his head would fall off because of a headache, at least it feels like it could. He’s almost finished with the cigarette when the fire seems to catch his attention, he gazes at it for a moment before putting it off with the back of his right hand. It stings at the beginning, like a million ants biting in the same place. Richie doesn’t take the tube away until it’s completely burnt out, the spot looks disgusting, with ash and blood mixing together making it look like mud. He smirks through the pain and lights another one for good measure. Once he’s repeated the process one more time, he finally falls asleep.

_“Yeah! I’ll be there, big bill” why the fuck did he say that?_ Richie wants to hit his past-self upside the head, there’s no way he’s ready to face Eddie so soon. It’s been a week, and his burns look even worse than before, a yellow clot covers the little circles, they haven’t even begun to heal. Richie took to scratching the spots whenever he felt the itch to do it again and he’s lost count of how many times he’s reopened the small wounds. He hasn’t eaten much either, or slept for that matter, and his body showed it. He stood in front of his mirror for half an hour that morning, just looking at the wrench he has become. His ribs poked against his skin, and he has deep, black bags underneath his glazed eyes. Richie didn’t even try to fix his hair, he just put on a black hoodie with some faded trousers and called it a look.

On his way to the cinema he found his mother perched on the front stairs, a bottle of whiskey in her hand and the house keys just out of her reach. He curses under his breath and helps her in the house, Richie lets her down gently on her favorite couch and he leaves a pair of painkillers and a glass of water by her side. He thought of cancelling to keep an eye on her, but decided not to. He knows it’s better to avoid them both. He can’t help but still crave for her though and he kisses her head goodbye before going out the door. Richie hurries with his hoodie on, avoiding eye contact and his hands in his pockets. He’s almost there when he hears laughs and screams, Richie smiles warmly in despite his tangled mind.

“Mike, you traitorous cow!” Bev exclaims as Richie comes into view. They all look like they’ve been waiting for a while, everyone is sitting on the floor, with popcorn and drinks ready. His stomach clenches and he berate himself for not bringing money with him. “Damn, has the party started without me, losers?” He asks everyone and they look up, he catches their expression before they school their features into smiles. ‘ _Pity, they pity your sorry misfortune ass_ ’. He shakes his head, pushing unwanted thoughts out of his mind and settles by Bill’s side. “Here, we already ate ours,” he tells him before giving him a hotdog. His stomach grumbles again and he takes it without fuss. He hears Eddie whine softly but Richie refuses to look at him, shame and guilt still too fresh in his memory to cope with him. “What are we watching, anyway?” Richie asks with his mouth full, making Stan gag and throw a napkin at him. He sticks his tongue out at him and laughs at his face. “Halloween II, I think, Bill hasn’t told us much,” Bev answers, keeping her popcorn out of mike’s grasp, who’s laughing at her expense. “It is indeed Halloween II that we’re watching today young lady, now let poor Mike eat some popcorn and let’s go.” Bill laughs at Bev’s outrageous face and they all get up. Richie stays behind a little, studying Eddie’s stiff frame. He feels anticipation coil inside him, but he tries to crush it down. There’s nothing happening today, he’ll watch a movie with his friends and then he’ll go back home, if he’s lucky, he’ll go to Stan’s house instead and that’s that. They take their seats and Richie’s both relieved and sad as he sees Eddie at the other side of the row, Ben smiles at him reassuringly and he wants to scream, is he really that obvious? And if he is, did Eddie know about his feelings too, and decided to take pity on him? The thought makes his skin feel like it’s about to explode, so Richie just seats by Ben’s side and pushes everything down.

The movie wasn’t bad, but Richie still talked his way through it. In all honesty, he hasn’t felt like himself as he did trading jokes with Ben and Mike. They laughed until someone told them to knock it off before they called security. They quiet down for a few seconds before Bev decides it would be a good idea to throw popcorn at the dude’s head, making them all burst into laughter.

At the end Richie, Ben, Mike and Beverly had to get out before the movie ended and wait for their friends to come out, and Richie felt calm for once. He was smoking when someone clear their throat behind him. “Chee.. Can we talk?” He doesn’t want to, but the quiver in Eddie’s voice makes him turn around and nod, Eddie falters, as if he was expecting more of a fight and Richie takes a look at Eddie as he gets his thoughts under control, knowing him, Richie can bet he practiced a speech. “So, about what happened the other day..” he stammers out, making Richie snort, “what? Your mother condemning me to hell? Or her perfect boy sticking his tongue down my throat?” Richie didn’t mean to sound so angry, and he isn’t mad with Eddie per se, he knew why he did it, his friend saw a new way to rebel against his mother and he took it, Richie couldn’t blame him for that, but it still stung.

He let smoke out, not really caring if his friends hear them. “I’m sorry Richie I am, you know how my mom is, but I’m not like her, I swear,” he breathes out, shivering a little from the cold surrounding them and Richie wonders if he would accept his hoodie, but thinks better of it when a flash of Eddie’s disgusted face pops in his mind. “I know, you proved your point, let’s move on if we can” he doesn’t tell him how much Richie needs Eddie in his life, but at this point he’s trying to come out of this as unscarred as possible. “What point Richie? I made a fool out of myself that day and I’m just trying to set it straight.” He sees fire light up behind Eddie’s gaze and Richie lets another puff of smoke out while trying to understand why he’s so adamant. “And I said that it’s okay, why can’t we forget it happened already?” His head’s aching as he forces the words out, making it hard to understand why Eddie looks so put off. “How am I gonna do that hum? You want me to just forget how you pounced on me out of thin air? Just wipe it all off, Richie?” He’s almost screaming and Richie’s glad. He deserves it, he deserves everything Eddie says or does to him because he’s right, Richie took advantage and there’s nothing he can do to make it right, _‘almost nothing, coward’._

“If you can’t, then there’s nothing I can do.” Richie tries not to panic as the words leave his mouth, he can’t make Eddie uncomfortable, it’s not even on the table. If he can’t be close with Eddie anymore, then he’ll take what he deserves and leave him alone. His other hand comes up to wipe the thin layer of sweat off his upper lip, and he remembers his burns a second too late. Richie curses as Eddie holds his hand out before he can hide it. “What happened?” Eddie asks, he turns his palm over, looking for more burns. “Nothing, let go please,” he jerks his hand out of the tight grip and Eddie seems to remember what was happening. “What do you mean?” He suddenly sounds small, but Richie doesn’t understand why. “Well, if you can’t look past what happened, then I guess I’ll leave you alone.” If he could create some backbone, then maybe he could be Eddie’s friend again without feeling like he couldn’t breathe, but for that he needed time. “I thought you of all people would understand!” Eddie says, taking a few steps away from Richie and holding his arms around himself, and what? What the fuck was Richie supposed to get? His homophobia? “What the fuck is there to get? I kissed you, and you wanted to rise against dearest mommy, what’s there to get?” Eddie looks mad, he looks pissed off and Richie flinches away thinking he’s gonna strike him. “I fought against her for you, idiot! You’re the one who’s always caused me problems with ma in the first place!” He feels gutted, Richie went in knowing he would lose and Eddie broke him as always. Richie stomps his foot on his discarded cigarette and turns his back to Eddie, knowing the last hit was going to land. “I guess you weren’t even worthy of that,” Eddie whispers and Richie presses onto the burns firmly, hoping to feel anything other than the empty cold holding his heart. “I guess I’m not,” Richie says before putting the black hoodie over his head and storming out. He hears Stan scream his name but he can’t face anyone now, he needs his razors, even his fucking dad would do at this point. Before anyone can catch up with him, Richie pushes through his exhaustion and starts running. The only thing he leaves is a drop of blood on the cinema’s steps that Eddie zeroes on, and a strange fatalist feeling nests in his heart.

The streets are empty this late at night, nothing but buildings and houses watch Richie wheeze his way to his home, nothing but a pair of yellow eyes and sharp fangs from under a sewer.

Once he’s home, Richie doesn’t stop until he’s locked inside the bathroom across from his room. He throws bottles over while searching for the pair of sharp razors he keeps hidden there; he stops before grabbing two white small pills and popping them quickly in his mouth. Once he has them he turns the water on and waits for the bath to fill. Richie always thought he would feel afraid. Maybe he’ll feel ashamed and chicken off at the last minute, but he feels almost calm as he watches the bubbles form and pop under the water pressure. He reckons that’s a good analogue to it, at the end nothing escapes miss death’s claws.

He lights his last cigarette up and throws the empty box to the side. He wonders if he had bought another pack, things would’ve gone differently for him, maybe he could’ve bought himself more time, maybe life would’ve fucking smiled at him one more time. Richie hopes Eddie doesn’t feel guilty, he has half a thought to get up and write something for him, but decides against it. There’s nothing he can say to make Eddie understand how it is to feel death’s grip on his neck all the time, ready to squeeze everything back at the smallest turn, at the smallest hint of changed loyalties. He knew his time was borrowed. And there’s no one to blame but Richie for that. He hopes Paul knows he tried.

Richie lets the intoxicating smoke out as he waits for the bath to fill, his father’s words bouncing in his mind, and he smiles. “Filtered cigs are for fags Richard, if you wanna play pretend, at least do it right,” that was the only time he heard Wentworth say his name he followed it up by a smashed bottle inches from his head. The drowning stench of whiskey didn’t leave his room for weeks, but Richie made sure to buy every single pack of filtered, menthol fucking scented cigarettes the next time he had enough money to go shopping.

Richie doesn’t even take his clothes off; he gets in the bath and rolls his sleeves enough to see his pasty skin and slashes one long strip up in the middle of his wrist and all the way through his forearm. The pain is gruesome, his wrist is on fire and it feels like a thousand needles drilling at his insides at the same time as lightning breaking through his entire arm. He lets a whimper out and focuses his energy on the other arm. He stops for a moment, dragging his arm enough to take the small tube and puff out more smoke. He knows how bad it hurts now, so his damaged arm shakes as he holds the bloody razor against his unscarred wrist. “I’m sorry Sam,” he squeezes out before pressing firmly in and slashing through again, he doesn’t take the razor out of the wound, Richie watches as it glints against the bathroom lights and blood streams out under its now dulled end. He lets a loud sigh out, and he closes his eyes, not wanting to look as the water turns red and his body is stripped of its last flicker of life.

Richie’s head lolls to his right side and he swears there’s something crawling out of the toilet. He tries to stand up but when his hands hold on to the tub to haul himself up, his wrists give in and he drops back down. Richie groans in pain and he figures whatever it is, he won’t be here when it reaches the top. The ache is a dull reminder of everything that toppled him over, but as time passes and the pills start to work, his mind blurs at the edges, making it all look like a dream very far away. Richie’s eyes are closing, the crooked cigar edges dangerously on his lips when white gloves pop over the bath. “Shit, fuck,” he tries to shift away from them but there’s nothing left in him. He focuses on keeping his eyes open, he wonders if he’s hallucinating and if he is, what the fuck? Why a clown? “Hi _Chee_ , what did you do?” A voice mocks him and if he could turn his head he would, but now even his eyes weight too much to keep open, a low whine breaks his silence and then a pair of red eyes come into his line of vision.

It looks horrible, like a clown who got stuck in the middle of the rain, his white skin cracks all over his face, leaving in the open what Richie guesses are blisters and cuts.

From its mouth there are two big teeth dripping blood, its sharp tongue comes out as if savoring the air. It laughs, shedding three pointy rows of teeth, before taking the razor and licking the red liquid off. Richie blanches and tries to move, only making the tainted water splash against his parted mouth. The cigar fizzes out and drops to the bottom of the bath. It keeps laughing while standing up and once the creature hovers over him, the fake smile drops and it’s screaming to Richie. “What did you do, Chee? So much sorrow, so much pain,” It sniffs the place, as if to catch the flavor. “I can almost taste it, and you took it from Pennywise, it was mine, you were mine!” It screeches before dislodging its jaw, white bright light covers the small room before everything turns black again.

Three fireballs are the last thing Richie sees before his mudded brain gives into the quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So quick rundown for anyone who didn't want or couldn't read the chapter: Richie runs out of the clubhouse and falls in the forest, he scraps his knee but goes home where his dad's a piece of shit and hurts him, days later the losers meet and go see a movie, Eddie tries to speak with him but their shared brain cell ain't working so at the end Richie runs away hurt, again, and goes home where he commits SUI but doesn't die cause Penny-wise turns up and mocks him before he faints,
> 
> That's pretty much it, thanks for reading and enjoy 🌻


	6. Ticking clock, sound the alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warning, enjoy 🌻

Ben Hanscom was usually found in the library, both because of his curious nature and also... well cause he never stayed long enough in a town to meet new people and being surrounded by books always made his days less lonely. Derry's been different he guesses, the losers club welcomed him with open arms and dumb jokes, and her mom promised they wouldn't move again, but old habits die hard, and besides, Derry was fascinating, it's history was like nothing he's ever seen. That's why after expending the whole afternoon holed up there, the librarian sent him home with a pile of books and a promise to return them intact. He finds himself on the wooden desk in his room, the big tomb of 'a history of old Derry' stares back at him as he gets comfortable for the reading

_...The tragic easter egg hunt of the early 1900s is one of Derry's darkest days, when all the kids..._

"Benny, you have company!" His mom screams from downstairs and he hears a pair of footsteps coming up. He wonders who would come to his home at eight in the morning on a Sunday and shrugs, his mind quickly brought back to the notes he's taking cause, _what on earth is going on in this town?_ "Hi Benny boy!" Mike laughs before flopping down on his bed. "Are you busy? The farm was pretty slow today so I thought I'd come down and see if anyone's free," he says looking through the piles of paper scattered on his bed, Ben shakes his head and turns in his chair to tells him everything he's read so far. "Okay so, remember when you told us your grandpa thinks this town's cursed?" He waits until his friend nods once before continuing, "Well I don't really know if cursed is the right word, but there's something going on," he finishes his speech with a heavy sigh. Still trying to make the loose pieces of the puzzle fit. 

"Well, let's see what we've got: major attacks and murder occurre every 27 years-" he waits for Ben to nod and write it down on his white board. "Where'd you get that by the way? I want one," he sidetracks making Ben laugh. "My mom got it for me, I don't know where, but focus," Ben tells him. "Yes okay, every 27 years something seems to strike Derry, kill for a year and disappears again; we also know that it's main target are children; there's a lot of missing people, but it seems like the town… forget about them?" He finishes just as confused as he started. "Man, I don't know, it feels like we're missing something stupid obvious," he wonders out loud.

"Well yeah, have you seen the news? Stuff has been happening since the beginning of the year, that's what got me thinking," he throws him a stack of newspapers Ben's been keeping and he goes swiftly through them. "The first victim was Sam, an eight years old. The scene was gruesome, Mike. Just awful, there was blood everywhere, it left that poor child without a leg, just laying on the floor!" Mike flinches at the image his friend illustrates in his mind. "I remember, they didn't find any trace or clue. My grandpa said it wasn't human, but you know how he is." Mike says, frowning at the amount of information they had. "You know? Maybe we can organize as much as possible and tell the other about it, I'm sure we'll come up with more, they all are pretty smart," _specially Stan, hum_? Mike shakes his head pushing that thought out, Ben quickly agrees and the set to work.

The two friends transcribe and collect information the whole day, with a quick interruption by Ben's mom delicious spaghetti. 

It's almost dark outside when Mike has to leave, but he promises he'll come by the next day to finish everything and tell the others.

Ben's getting ready to fall asleep, unaware that beneath the old house, down in the sewers, there's a clown laughing. "Hear that, Chee? Oh this is going to be so much fun for pennywise!" He claps his large hands together, the suspended body of Richie tozier stares blankly up at the pile of kids floating in the air.

The creature moves erratically but fast through the tunnels, like an old string toy set free to wobble around. It's stomach crawling and twisting while it's nose twitches, looking for new meat. There's something so sweet, so tasty about them, the younger the better, he thinks. 

Their unfiltrated fear always hits It's mouth when pennywise finally takes a bite out of them. 

A syrupy scent catches it's attention and he starts running. It's mouth salivating and his claws extending when he stops under the girl's house. His body elongates, big brown eyes stretch and his limbs flush together so It can crawl up the small tubes. He makes his way through the second floor and squirms out of the walls. He's in a closet, the lights are off but a small elephant lamp lits the room with a soft pink hue. It peeks through the slits in the wood door, watching the small child asleep on the bed before the famine wins him over and the creature unhinges its jaw and let's the fears in.

_'ew! Emma pissed herself!_ ' The distorted image flashes in front of him. The girl crying in the middle of the circle, a boy screams and laughs, pointing at her pants, a woman is trying to stop them, but young ones tend to be cruel, Pennywise thinks. _'what happened, Em?'_ The professor -Sophia, her favourite teacher- asks Emma while helping her change clothes, the little girl tenses and flinches away when she tries to touch her. _'please! Don't tell mom, please! It won't happen again, please'_ the frightened child begs and It smiles. "oh, I know little one," pennywise says as the closet door creaks open.

"Pss, Emma," It whispers, making her stir and twist around in bed. "Emma, come on, pennywise wants to play," It says more loudly this time, the girl wakes up. Her eyes skim the room and widen when they land on the clown by her bed. "Hi Emma! I'm pennywise, the dancing clown!" It says, his stomach expanding at the maddening smell of her rising panic. "Why are you here?" She says quietly, making It smirk... If only you knew. "No one wants to be friends with Pennywise, And everyone makes fun of me," he pouts for more effect.

"Oh, um.. I can be your friend, I guess, I'm Emma." Emma says with a smile on her little.. enticing face. "Really? You'd be Pennywise's friend?" The creature sounds excited, fooling the small child into getting up and padding her way closer to it.

"Yeah! I don't have any friends either, but that's okay. We can be each other's first friends!" she exclaims and It dances for her. Emma is saying something, but pennywise is too focused on her scent. There's drool coming down it's face, his already agitated body is twitching with unreleased energy.

"Mister pennywise? You're drooling a little." the girl tells him, pointing to his face. The clown briskly cleans his mouth with the back of his hand and sighs. "I'm sorry Em, it's just that I'm hungry..so hungry." The creature trails off, Emma's pumping blood making him crazy. 

"Do you want a sandwich? That's all I can make," she says sadly, but when her new friend nods Emma quickly puts on her slippers and goes down the stairs, a big gloved hand clasped in hers.

They set to work, at least little Emma and the creature has all its senses locked on her, not hearing a light switch turning on upstairs.

"So, I've heard the kids at your school aren't nice to you?" Pennywise wants to enjoy this one, there's nothing like some child's fears and traumas as an appetizer before the main meal. Emma nods while pouring mayo on the bread. "Will isn't nice, he makes jokes about me." She pouts, her bottom lip wobbling a little.

"Oh, that's not nice! And why does he do that?" It mocks her, knowing full well her pure mind won't be able to catch on the sarcasm. "I- um.. I peed my pants once, but it wasn't my fault! They were screaming at me and I got scared," she protests. Crumpling a piece of cheese in her hand. 

"I can make you not be scared anymore… if you want," the creature says, getting impatient.

Emma turns around and nods, "yes! I want to, but how?" She asks and the clown beckoned her closer. "Shh, it's a secret Emma." 

The little girl giggles and stops in front of the clown. She stiffens her laughs putting her hands over her face as It blows in her ear.

Everything seems to stills around them, even the air thickens, the creature opens its red mouth. But before anything happens, pennywise sees a pair of naked feet coming down the stairs '!NO! She's mine, MINE!' but it's too late, the man is almost at the end of the stairs. It knows he has to go, there's no time. So as he's ready to disappear back into the shadows, his fangs close into terse cartilage and the clown reaps the small thing off, a scream breaks the spell and pennywise leaves. "DADDY! A clown, there was a clown!-" the girl screeches, holding her hands to the side of her head, blood pouring out and quickly reddening the floor, "Help me daddy! It Hurts!" She cries into her father's chest, who's shaken off his stupor as her little fist comes against his ribs.

  
  


A furious thing is running down in the sewers, with a dripping mouth and coiling face. It turns and topples over in front of a big pile of things, a small stage with white bold letters on top stares back, _'pennywise, the dancing clown,'_ it reads. 

The creature's banging it's fists on the ground. The pit in his stomach is deepening, making him desperate but he turns around and focuses his gaze on the boy, His head clears as he stalks towards him and sniffs. His contorning face stops in a toothy smile and he lets his mouth open and the deadlights lit the place.

...It's time for Chee's friends.

  
  


"Thank you for letting me take that book home," he tells the librarian and the old lady nods dismissively. Her dull eyes focused again on the magazine laying on her desk. Ben shifts on his feet for a moment before asking her for more information on the Easter egg hunt, sure that there's something they're missing, but she shakes her head.

"Those are private documents, boy. No one but the police can get to them, now move alone." She ushers him to the side and Ben goes out the door with a sigh. 

The hallway is empt, a pair of fluttering neon lights the only thingilluminating his way. Ben's almost at the end of the corridor when a small red egg sitting in front of the bathroom catches his attention. He ponders what to do for a moment, but his interest wins him over and as he goes to reach for it, he sees them, a pair of scorched legs tapping against the white tiles. Ben straightens in time to watch it hide behind an open stall, the hot egg burning against his hand. 

"Hello? Is someone in here?" The only sound that echoes back is a few droplets of water falling from a broken faucet. He steps towards it, with his head looking down, scared of what he could see.

Ben's in front of the metal door, his hand shakes a little as he reaches for the door handle. "there's nothing there, Ben," he psyches himself up and pulls it open. 

Nothing, there's nothing but a dirty toilet and an empty trashcan. He lets a breathy laugh out, "Man, I need to rest!" he says, relieved. But as Ben's about to move he catches movement from the corner of his eyes. 

He turns towards the mirror on instinct, feeling dread when he's met with a burned beheaded body instead of his reflection.

"Take one, benny! Why don't you play with us!" Ben's out the door and running down the hall before that thing finishes. He can hear plastic things falling behind him, but he refuses to turn back. There's another pair of shoes hitting the ground, Ben wants to scream for help but nothing comes out of his mouth when he tries. "C'Mon Benny! You'll be heard here.. why don't you want to float, fatty?" 

He turns left at the end whe he sees it, an oscillating clown coming behind him. Ben doesn't get to see much, but those yellow eyes get engraved on his mind as he throws the door open and jumps the small step. 

His red bike is parked by the side, he reaches for it as the clown crosses the door. "We all float here, egg boy! You all will float soon!" It screams, but Ben's already on his bike, speeding up the way to his home. 

Ben's halfway there when he realises the red egg is in his basket.

  
  


Mike's delivering the last order of meat when it happens again. He doesn't know what it means but he swears he's been seeing things since he went to Ben's house. 

"Take care, Mike," the store manager tells him as he bids him off and closes the door behind him. Mike is walking down the alley when someone knocks against a black door as he's passing by. He stops on his track, listening for something 

"Hello?" There's the same noise again. "You need help?" He gets closer to the door, but as he's about to press his ear against it, a sudden heat burns his side. 

"Mikey! Help us, please!" A woman's voice screams out, he jerks back and the door starts shaking. 

burned hands push through the small gap as the door gives in, smoke starts coming down his throat, making him choke down the call for help he needs to make. 

_You just needed to do something, murderer._

Mike knows, he knows but fear grips his lungs closed and he's paralyzed. He was just a kid. "Why don't you help me, Mike?" Stan's voice reaches through his mind and he opens his eyes. He can't see his face but his friend's curly head is pushing his way out the flames. 

"It's not real... it's not real," he says shaking his head trying to make everything go away, his eyes are closed tight but there's no more sounds.

"Is it real enough now, Mikey?" Something asks before the door slams open. He's shaking but Mike knows he has to face whatever it is. 

_'you're either there, or behind the trigger, boy,'_ his grandpa's voice reminds him. Mike squares up his back and opens his eyes.

His gaze is met with a dark room, nothing's there but bodies hanging in the centre behind a plastic curtain. It takes a moment for his brain to match the figures to slaughtered pigs, but once it does they start morphing together until a clown's tall frame is waving at him. "You wanna float, Mike?" It's rugged voice asks him. Mike can't move his head, can't even close his eyes when the translucent screen falls. "I'll help you float!" The thing starts running maniacally towards him and Mike trips back on his ass. He can't do anything but cover his face with his arms as It almost reaches him.

"Mike!" He hears his name and turns to see the manager looking down at him.

"Scared of crows?" The tall man asks with a gentle smile, and what? His head whirls back to the now closed door and bleaches, a single black bird stares back at him for a moment before flying away.

  
  


Beverly marsh locks the door to her room behind her, the pair of scissors still clutched tight in her grip. She didn't know why the urge came now, but she sure as hell knows where it came from. 

Alvin marsh used to make her beg for someone to hear her pleas, but now that she has the losers, she's been able to believe that it's not her fault and she doesn't have to take it, that there's someone, multiple people ready to have her back.

She remembers Eddie kaspbrak launching his fanny pack at her father one day when he tried to drag her home, Richie cursing him and threatening to scream bloody murder and bill telling her she could sleep in his house. Bev smiles at the memory, happy that they're her family, the one she chose, the one she has helped piece back together with time and affection.

Encouraged by that she drops the scissors on her bed and turns her attention to a mirror propped against the white wall. 

Bev smirks despite her fear, this is who you are… not mom and not someone else's, she tells herself, her hand fleetly shaking her short curls. Beverly can't remember the last time she cut her hair. Her father always preferred it long, he liked to tell her she looked just like her mom, and bev used to be happy with that. And how could she not? She was just a kid, and if the only time your single parent showed love towards you was when you looked like your deceased mother, well bev reckons she understands why she didn't catched on sooner. 

"Bevie.." she freezes, feeling dread cloud her vision for a moment, her father's home. He wasn't supposed to be here so early! Bev curses before pushing the door open, "yes dad?" She asks the empty hallway, hoping Alan's already passed out on the couch. There's no response so she creeps her way to the living room, the TV is on, but there's no one. 

"I'm hallucinating, cool." She rolls her eyes and walks back to her room, this time letting the door hang open. 

"Bevie… " she hears again and it takes her a second to realise the voice is coming from inside. Her eyes dart across her room but there’s no one besides her.

“You’re just stressed out Beverly.” She shakes her head and gazes again at the tall mirror. Her cheeks are pale now, and her short hair doesn’t let her hide her alarm, she swears that was her father’s voice.

The tall girl didn’t see the subtle change in the room in her fright, but from the newly created space in-between the wall and the mirror, a pale figure starts crawling up in the shadow. The faceless thing fits perfectly behind the metal frame, and if it wasn’t for the long bony fingers that latched themselves on its borders, Beverly wouldn’t have seen it until it was too late. 

“what the fu- “Bev curses out once she catches the hands hanging onto her mirror, she has a second to wonder what’s going on before whatever that thing is finishes straightening up and there’s strands of greasy black hair brimming over the mirror, almost as if they were floating.

Beverly stumbles back, her hip hitting the small desk on her right. “hi, Bevie… where’s dear dad?” and holy fuck, that thing has a mouth. 

Bev whines trying to get farther away from there, but she’s trapped between the bed on her left and the only way out is through the door…the fucking door inches away from that creature. 

“you don’t know who I am?” It asks, “how about now?” Beverly watches petrified as its face contorts until it settles on Alvin’s face, a nasty smirk plastered on its face.

“who’s my pure girl?” it asks and that snaps her out of it, she examines the room for something to defend herself with, she’s about to give up when the glint of the scissor catches her attention. The creature shrieks and she throws her body on the bed as it pushes the mirror, its deformed body going down as well. The mirror cracks with a loud sound, but Beverly doesn’t have time for anything, she takes them just as it starts standing up again. 

“C'mon girl, let's float together,” it laughs. Beverly plunges her hand forward, gutting the thing beneath its prominent ribs, but terror halts her as the thing doesn’t shed a drop of blood, instead its flesh rapidly covers both the scissor and her hand, she tries to pull it out, but nothing shifts.

“Help! Somebody help me, please!” Beverly screams but she knows it’s useless, no one has cared when she screamed before, but just like with her father, fear makes her try everything.

The thing twists its head to the side, and Beverly feels hands crawl all over her body. Her free hand tries to push them away but is met with air. It’s not real, Bev it’s not real, she opens her eyes and suddenly the room is empty, the only trace of anything happening is the broken mirror on the floor. She lets a breath out, her heart is throbbing quickly against her chest, and her hands drop her weapon with a quiver.

Her feet touch the floor gingerly, careful of the pieces of glass scattered across the room. Beverly’s almost at the door when she looks into what’s left of the mirror, she feels bile coming up her throat when she sees what’s there, instead of her legs, a disfigured clown stares back at her, a crazed look on its eyes and there’s blood dripping down its mouth. 

“you’ll float down here, you all will float down here with us,” it tells her before the image changes like static… a red balloon floats in the middle of the glass before popping, the remaind of the mirror shattering with it too.

Beverly doesn’t stay to see what happens next and without thinking she slams the door closed, jumping down the stairs and out in the streets before she blinks.

Once she's met with the soft warm breeze, Beverly hits the ground and retches. It isn't pretty, she's sure there's some blood dribbling down her lips and her tears make it look even worse. But once she's gotten everything out of her system, Beverly stands up and sets to Bill’s house. 

She lit her first cigarette in months on her way there, but Beverly reckons she deserves one, letting the smoke clear her throat off the dread and desperation she still feels. 

  
  


"Where's that wax?" Bill wonders, while searching for the metal tube in the poorly lit room. The amount of boxes spreaded out and piled up throughout time made the effort almost laughable, there was simply no way of finding that thing, at least not without losing his mind. 

Bill Denbrough has never liked their basement, he remembers having to go down to search for his toy truck when he was little, the tall shelves loomed over his small frame and everything seemed a lot scarier than it actually was, and even if now he knows there’s nothing there, he still avoids going down to the small room as much as possible, but Georgie wanted his boat, so at least he had to try.

After a good half an hour of him blindly going through boxes, Bill's ready to call it a day, when a glint catches his attention. 

"Oh you have to be kidding me," he curses as he reaches for the jar sitting in front of him on the shelf. He shakes his head, sure that it was not there a second ago, but as he's going up the stairs that's pushed to the back of his mind.

A small box is perched on the middle of the last step, it's red and white stripes looping up into a golden cap. _' Pennywise the dancing clown!'_ the yellow words are painted in cursive on its side. 

Bill frowns, he doesn't remember ever playing with that thing.

He sets the wax besides it and turns twice the little rusted handle. Circus music starts playing and Bill gets a sharp tug in his stomach, he shrugs it off and waits until the lid finishes opening and a small creepy clown is dancing. The little thing jolts once before the music ends and it's left looking at him, long arms pulled back from its body and hands hang loosely down. He goes to close the toy when the clown starts slowly moving again.

"Hi Billy-boy!" He flinches back when the thing calls his name, making him lose a step and go tumbling down the stairs.

Bill watches as the clown gains height until it's looming over him, it's arms finally drop limp at It's side and the clown's face breaks into an eerie smile. 

"What the f-f-fuck?" Bill stutters out rubbing his eyes, but once he opens them up again, the creature's still looking down at him. "What are y-y-you? What the f-f-fuck is going on?" 

"C'mon Billy-boy If you come with us, you'll float too!" It screams coming down the steps. 

He stands up and turns to run but two small kids holding hands are right behind him. Their skin looks greenish, with large patches missing on their faces, big toothy smiles show white maggots peeking through and Bill gags. He sees the girl's dark hole by the side of her head and He vaguely recalls her, _'first victim who survived!'_ He remembers from a newspaper he read this week, but the other boy is too decomposed for Bill to recognize.

"Don't you wanna float with me, billy?" George's voice rings through the room and bill panics, his gaze roams the space but his brother isn't there. 

Bill turns his gaze back to the stairs and seeing no one there, greatful, he starts running up the steps. "You're going to leave me, billy?" He stops, holding the black stair rail with a vise grip but doesn't look back. 

"It's not real, Georgie's upstairs," he reminds himself and starts moving slowly up again, as if to not startle something. 

"I want to float Billy!" His brother's voice breaks the silence and this time Bill can't do anything but turn around and look for him.

The two kids are still there, their wet shoes dripping onto the steps but now the boy looks sad, his eyes filled with big tears rolling..up? What the fuck? Bill watches as a tear leaves his face and traces up to the ceiling. There's something telling Bill to run, but he finds himself captivated as the small drop makes its merry way up. 

A red balloon is perched near the roof, floating gently against the wood...up and back, like a boat rocked by water, Bill weirdly thinks, watching as the tear touches it. Once it does, the movements become erratic, the red thing shaking and jerking until it explodes, leaving the clown's face on its wake, Twisted body hanging from it's nails and feet upside down.

"Play with me, Billy," George's voice comes from its open mouth and bill unfreezes, moving up the stairs as a loud thud comes from behind. He's almost at the door when something pushes him away, making his knees hit the ground and shove the wax tube out into the kitchen. 

He crawls the rest of the way without looking back, anguish and terror making his movements clumsy.

The door slams closed at his back, and he's left panting briskly, his knees bleeding from the hit and he clutch tightly the metal tube to his chest.

Bill stands up on unsteady legs and rushes through the warmly lit kitchen without hearing his mom open the front door. 

He goes into his room, where Georgie's waiting for him, the s.s Georgie flying up and down his bed as the little boy laughs. 

"Hi billy! Look at him fly" he says, making shivers run through his body. "It's a she Georgi, we call boats She" Bill corrects despite his pounding heart. 

"Bill, Beverly's here!" His mom screams. He has a second to clamp down the swirl of emotions he's feeling before the redhead comes in.

"Hi bill! What's up?" She asks, good-natured and carefree as always.

"Good, nothing new," he responds as the girl seats besides Georgie and starts playing with him, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say? 'oh nothing, just a damned clown and some corpses hanging in my basement? Yeah Bill can't imagine how that conversation could go.

"You've seen the others?" Bev asks and Bill shrugs, "no, not si-si-since what happened back at the cinema," the both cringe at the memory.

"Yeah that was a shit show, Stan was pissed hum? I think I saw him on my way here but he didn't hear me," Beverly laughs a little when she remembers his friend's red face. 

"He really was. I'm surprised he didn't slap Eddie across the ch-cheek, he sure looked ready though," Bill adds, trying to forget whatever fever dream he just had.

  
  


Stan goes into his room and stops in his tracks, something nagging at the back of his mind. His gaze roams the pristine place but he can't spot anything different at first sight, but he's sure there's something amiss. Stan doesn't mean to, but his hands start rubbing against each other, his nerves picking up and he starts feeling something off, something bad. 

_Calm down Stan, maybe your mom did something_ , He tells himself, trying to control his spiralling thoughts. 

He forces himself to enter his room, the bed is made; the window slightly open to let clean air come in, and all his books are… Stan stops his mental checklist, the books are not like he left them this morning. From biggest to smallest, from the darkest frame colour to the lightest shade. Now there are two big ones in the middle, his hands twitch but he pushes through and reaches slowly to rearrange them.

_Warbler, songbird, tanager, blackbird, Sparrow, hummingbird, swift, Swallow, finches, buntings, robin, canary, owl, crow, bullfinch_... Stan recites his favourite birds names while taking out all his books and putting them back in order.

He's so focused on the task at hand he doesn't hear the door closing nor does he sees the clown tiptoeing across the room until he's by his bedside and rolling down the bunk. 

"Nothing's wrong, you're safe," he whispers but his reassurance is short-lived as another voice makes him stiffen and drop the book he's holding. 

"Stanley...Stanley boy" something sings quietly and Stan starts freaking the fuck out, his body turns around without him saying so, and he can feel a strong pressure at the base of his neck locking him down. 

"Who's there?" He blurts out, his hands holding tightly to the library at his back. 

"Stanley...stanny it's us! The dead ones," a bunch of what sounds like children's cries pierce Stan's head, turning his breathing forced and frantic. 

"What? What, who..?" He's asking but the voices interrupt him, shrieking again and again, "the dead ones! We are the dead ones!" 

Stan's crying, fear cutting his vocal chords off, and glueing his feet to the floor. 

"Stop! No, no stop it, stop," Stan begs, his hands holding his head as he closes his eyes.

_Azalea, lavender, marigold, dahlia, tulip, orchid, lilies, daisies, gardenias, zinnia,_ stan chants mentally, his mind pushing out the threat and shifting it into flowers, he does it until he can't hear the voices, and he's stopped hyperventilating when a single voice breaks his mantra. " Stanny, help me!.. I don't wanna be a dead one," it sobs in his right ear, the known voice shatters him and makes him open his eyes.

His room is empty, a small pile of books by his side the only thing out of order, he furiously wipes clean his eyes and trudges slowly to the door. 

Stan tries the doorknob but it doesn't open, his hands yank at it, however it doesn't budge.

"Tsk, Tsk Stanley boy… you can't help'im, ol' boyo," a man's voice taunts him, but now he's pissed off.

Stan turns ready to throw something at… at whatever the fuck is there, but his anger evaporates as a bony chewed hand becomes him closer, he can't see an arm or a body attached to it, and the sudden dryness in his throat makes him choke. 

Miraculously the door creaks open a little and Stan's out the door in a second. 

"What's wrong, honey?" His mom asks and he's never been more happy to see her in his short life, but he needs to go now, so that's what he tells her hurriedly, before going down the stairs and out the front door. 

He's running like a madman, he knows that, but he has to get there. Panic like he's never felt before settles in his chest, making him almost forget what just happened, and just focus on getting there on time and making sure everything is okay.

He turns around a corner and hits someone and they both go down. He pushes through the pounding headache and opens his eyes, the strong light hitting his dilated pupils and making him wince, but he's ready to get the fuck up and just get there, until he sees the person in front of him andhis nerves slow down for a moment.

"What...Eddie?" 

Across town and deep past the barrens, a dark presence whispers rapidly into the broken body laying on the sidewalk before disappearing. 

The corpse inflates like a balloon, it stands up on shaky legs and goes deep into the forest. Branches scratch against it's skin, peeling off rotten chunks, but it just keeps strolling leisurely into town.

" tick, tock rich...game's on. " the clown smiles, tracing Richie's cuts with a sharp tongue, making the formerly singed slits start bleeding again. small droplets of blood drop for a moment before floating up as the creature dances away, changing faces with every swirl.


	7. Underwater there's a burning pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings, enjoy 💛

Eddie is laying on his bed, Richie's favorite pack of cigarettes lays on top of his chest as he gazes sightless at the ceiling. 

It's been two days since he last saw his friend, and he doesn't know what happened, how things escalated so fast or how the fall was so catastrophic, but one thing he does know, is the pain choking him from beneath his ribcage.

Eddie's almost grown accustomed to it, he reckons it feels like a rose's spine, sharp but almost poetic. The flower lodged itself in his heart, suffocating his arteries and intertwining within his lungs, blood and petals fell deep in his stomach, making Eddie want to scratch himself open to get them out, almost like the words when he looked at Richie that night.

"i guess you weren't worthy of that." Eddie can still see Richie's face as he spat the ugly words out. God what the fuck was he thinking? ' _oh but you know what you wanted don't you, Eddiebear?'_ he wanted him to hurt, Eddie wanted Richie to feel the heartbreak he was feeling, and like the manipulative piece of shit he was, he said what he knew would break the already shattering boy.

He remembers Stan screaming at him, " _you're an asshole Edward, fuck you,_ " he spewed out as Mike hold him back, rage clear on his eyes once he couldn't keep up with Richie's long legs, but Eddie kept looking at where the darkness had engulfed Chee, thing that only angered his friend more. " _Come on, eds! Take it out on me too, make dearest mommy proud and hit two of us!"_ Stan kept hollering for a fight but Eddie...God Eddie just wanted Richie to come back and tell him it was a joke and that it was going to be okay.

He stood at the door and waited, but Richie didn't come back. Once all the losers left, he dropped to the ground besides the scarlet smear, tears kept rolling down almost imperceptibly and Eddie didn't do anything to stop them.

He remembers the walk back home, way past his curfew but he couldn't care less. Eddie felt empty and at the same time, ready to burst, his fingertips were numb but his throat was on fire. Sonia was at the door crying but he didn't care anymore. He lied to Richie, he was the only reason Eddie fought Sonia tooth and nails for, but now there was nothing left to fight for and Eddie didn't care anymore.

So Eddie let her fuss over him, he dried her tears and they went inside. His mother made him a snack and her formerly unsettling gaze warmed his frozen body a little that night as he ate, then Eddie promised her he wouldn't do it again before kissing her forehead and going up to his room, where he's been laying ever since.

"Baby, it's time for your medicines," his Ma sings as she opens the door. Eddie has a second to throw his cigarettes under the covers before she comes in with a metal plate and a cup of water. 

"I don't know what's wrong. I asked Mr. Keene, the pharmacist? Oh what a lovely man, eddy. He has a daughter, Greta Keene, he said you two are in the same grade, why aren't you friends with her?" She waves her hand dismissively, "Oh well, It doesn't matter now. He said you may be depressed and to give you this twice a day." His mother gives him a small pill and he pops it in without complaint. 

Eddie scoots over slowly, careful of the pack of cigarettes in between them as she sits by his side, taking his hand in between her sweaty ones. "See eds, this is what happens when you're away from me, you get sick." She tries to pet his head but he stops her, a flicker of something breaking through his haze. 

"What did you call me?" Eddie feels like an old machine coming back to life. With hacking wheels pushing against dust to orbit again and sharp metal arms shaking and protesting as the heavy engine pulls itself out of the oil filled hole where it laid dormant.

He doesn't quite reach the top yet, but his gaze clears enough for him to stare Sonia down, who's looking contritely at her wringing hands, but her eyes betray the whole act. "It's just a nickname Eddie, don't think too much of it." She tries, and he can't believe her. 

"No! You know that's not just a nickname," Eddie mocks, making her straighten up and her expression changes, an ugly smile darkens her face, and for a moment, Eddie truly fears his mother.

"Then what is it, if not a nickname, Edward?"

"Fuck you! You know that's Richie's way of… Richie's." He tries but the anger suddenly dissipates, leaving him panting. Eddie coffs once, for what? He doesn't know, maybe he was somehow trying to wake himself up, or it may be that he tried to choke down his response. Either way, Sonia just smiles wide before taking the plate and walking to the door.

"Don't forget you need to go down to the pharmacy today, eds" she calls back calmly, sure that this time there wasn't going to be a protest. 

"Yes ma," He says hauntingly before laying back down again, his right hand clutching tight the white pack, even if it stung, and if a few tears rolled down his face well there was no one to blame but himself.

Eddie's going down Palmer street to get his order at the pharmacy, walking fast past Richie's alleyway. He can see the yellow house from where he's waiting for the lights to change and even though a strange fleeting pain crosses his heart, like a warning sign, he averts his gaze and looks at the ground. 

"Fancy day, don't you think?" Some one says, making Eddie jump a little as he looks up again. "Oh hi, Delia. Yeah it is, summer's finally here," He huffs out a laugh. 

Delia Johnson is the little old lady who lives next to Richie, she made them cookies and told them stories as they waited for their friend to come out. Her warm smile used to brighten their day, helping them ignore the screams coming from the house until Richie came storming out the door and plopped down with them, then she would calmly give him one too and they would wait for her to finish the story before leaving.

Eddie always caught her giving Richie some money when the others weren't looking, and as he saw his friend's reddening cheeks for the first time, Eddie concluded he could keep the secret safe.

"Yeah it's come, it's finally come." Her tone sends shivers down his spine, but Eddie just nods, trying to mask his reaction. 

Thankfully the light turns green and he waves back at her before crossing the street walking fast.

The boy doesn't see the old lady waving him off, her head hanging to the side and a wide sharp smile. She's jumping, bouncing from excitement as her blank eyes watch him go into Main Street and inside Center Street drug.

"Eddie kaspbrak, what are we getting this morning?" Norbert Keene asks him, and instead of answering he hands over the white prescription.

Eddie Wants to scream as he sees him fixing his glasses with one hand. He knows that man has memorized his order ages ago. "Hum, you're already out of fluoxetine? I told Sonia it should last you a week." That makes him stop, fluoxe-what? 

Eddie knows what placebos his mother gave him, they ranged from aspirins to antibiotics whenever he would go out and play somewhere 'unsafe' in Sonia's eyes, but he's never heard of that one.

"What's that?" He asks the pharmacist, who's smirking at him, for whatever reason. Eddie wonders if holding his head in his hands and rolling his eyes at this clown would warrant him a trip to the Psych's ward. 

"Oh sonia didn't tell you? She said your doctor prescribed you with prozac, guess this time's for real." He jokes but Eddie can't find it in him to laugh, _doctor? What motherfucking doctor?_ He's been practically banned from derry's hospital and doctor's offices for like a year.

"Well either way, here's your order, boy." Keene gives him a brown bag and Eddie puts it in his fanny pack as he goes out the door. 

He's so fixated on keeping the anger he hasn't felt in a while alive, that he doesn't see the tall figure resting against the concrete wall on his right until a foot trips him over, and his face cracks against the hard floor before he can say anything, Eddie feels a hand pulling him up by the collar of his shirt. 

"What's up, girly boy?" Patrick's voice taunts as he's dragged into the alleyway. 

"Let go of me, you fuck!" He screams, holding on onto the rage, hoping fear doesn't take over his nerves. 

"Oh you're a feisty one, aren't you?" Hockstetter mocks him before dropping him down, the impact doesn't hurt as much this time, but Eddie can feel his chest starting to swell up.

The pale boy puts his foot on his back, Eddie tries to fight against the hold, but he's weak in comparison to the other boy. "Now, now there, why are you resisting? Just relax, you'll like it," Patrick says, crouching down in front of him. 

Eddie can breathe again without the weight on his back, but a hand comes down harshly on the side of his face making him wince.

"You see, Bucky Beaver is no fun for me, Henry's the one who likes them to lay down and take it like bitches-" he flickers his lighter really close to Eddie's eye, who starts squirming away as much as he can, "but me? I like them gutsy." He jerks Eddie's head back with a strong lock on his hair.

"Bucky bea-" he says, confused, before his brain makes the connection. "Richie? What the fuck did you do to him?" images of blood and curls cloud his vision making him panic. Eddie clenches his teeth and balls his fists scraping his knuckles against the ground, but he refuses to scream for help. 

"Oh, you don't know?" Hockstetter laughs standing up, he spits besides Eddie, who gags as he turns to the other side and scoots away. Patrick lets him move until he's pressed firmly against the wall, knowing there's nowhere to run and enjoying seeing him run from him. 

"This is going to be so. Much. Fun," he punctuates each word with a swift kick, making Eddie recoil. 

"Yes... _Eddie spaghetti_ -" he mocks, a hard black boot pressing down on his arm, Eddie feels it tensing due to the odd angle and his mind's scrambling to remember how much pressure a joint can endure before snapping... _tension in the displacing cable increased until the joint began to sublux at 10s, then as the humerus_ \- Eddie's reciting, trying to distract himself from the pain when Patrick speaks again. 

"Your darling Richie has bore me out, Henry doesn't let us touch him, and between you and me-" he makes a shushing motion with the flame of his flicker, crazy eyes roll to the back of his head before laughing, Eddie's shaking. 

_(He's goings to kill you, Patrick hockstetter is going to burn your face off in a fucking syphilis infested alleyway)_

"-I think he has a soft spot for him now, poor thing, if only you knew how twisted little Chee is." The weight is lifted off his shoulder and Eddie uses the small frame of time to try to stand up. He's on all fours but Patrick perches his whole body on Eddie, he tries to fight him off, but his elbow gives in with a pop and he's down again, his arms under his chest and the tall boy pressing down on his back.

"Shut the fuck up! Leave him alone". He gasps, but Eddie's breathing is starting to shorten, his brain has long gone into overdrive and he can almost feel the coppery taste of the panic attack on his tongue. 

" _Leave him alone! Oh please Bowers, leave Eddie alone!_ " Patrick mimics his friend and Eddie stops struggling for a moment. It's not true, he's playing with you, it's not true, his brain attempts to calm him down, but the scenes flashing before his eyes bring tears to his eyes.

"Tsk, tsk darling, don't tell me that's all it took to break you," Patrick's face comes into vision and Eddie can see the barely contain joy up close, a calloused hand dries the tears falling down his cheek but he moves his head away, scratching his other side. "Roughing your 'boy' up, That's it? C'mon feisty one! Give daddy a fight," he taunts and Eddie can't choke down the scream when he feels his skin peel off as his arm is dragged from under his chest and twisted behind his back.

"Well, let's hope you enjoy this as much as I'll do." Eddie hears a zipper opening and his body comes back alive. 

"Leave me the fuck alone! What are you doing, Patrick I swear to God!" He's hosteling his body up, not caring for his skin being smeared against the concrete, just needing to get the fuck away, he feels burning on his forearm and stops. 

"That's better baby, we don't want to burn ourselves, do we?" He threatens and Eddie wants to cry, he hasn't praid to anything in years, but he begs for something to help him.

"-what the fuck?" Patrick stops doing whatever he was doing on top of him, and the fear in his voice scares Eddie even more, now what the fuck else is happening? 

He can't see from where he is, but Eddie can hear him getting more agitated as Patrick screams about... leeches? What on earth? He doesn't care to ask because miraculously, the boy is standing off his body. 

On his hurry Patrick trips over, falling in front of Eddie, who's looking at him as if he's grown another head, but Patrick doesn't even see him. He stands gawkily back up and runs away from there, lighter tossed to the side and Eddie bleaches, what?

He stays where he lays for a moment, catching his breath and trying to calm the impending attack down enough for him to get home. He wants to throttle Richie for convincing him Eddie doesn't need his inhaler.

_Holy fuck, Richie!_

Eddie pushes against the pain he feels everywhere in order to stand up, he needs to make sure he's okay. The fight seems ages ago now, and he doesn't care if Richie hates him, he needs him to be okay. 

He looks his arm over once he's up, aside from superficial cuts, he guesses nothing major is wrong... instead _for all those grimmy bacterias crawling up your_ \- Eddie shuts down the voice, breathing unsteady as he turns around.

"Hello girly boy."

A lanky leaper is standing at the end of the street, blisters dripping green matter and blood, it's bony feet start moving and a rotten black arm spreads toward him, it's hand is holding tightly onto something, "need **this**?" His purple aspirator lays on its fist and the thing cackles as Eddie heaves. He throws himself to the side, and ducks as it lunges at him. Eddie is able to escape by an inch and he doesn't have to think before he starts running. 

"I'll blow you for a dime Eddie! I'll blow you for free!" It screams behind him and he panics as the main street seems farther away as he sprints. 

"Or better yet, Eds, I can make Richie blow you once… he's mine now." He almost faceplants again, but his trembling legs hold him up as he stops but doesn't turn back.

"Oh Eddie, I know you want those sweet, pink lips wrapped around your dick, don't you?" He whirls back so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. The light glints off of a pair of red glasses on the leaper's rags and Eddie's heart drops, those are Richie's. 

"What are you? What the fuck is happening?" He asks but the thing smiles before charging again. Eddie pales but doesn't move, he feels stuck to the ground, the creature stops a few feet away from him before spitting near his head.

"You have to hurry, Eddie, there's not much time left for him." It smirks and he's even more confused, it must've shown on his face cause next thing he sees is the leaper dancing and twirling like a puppet before it changes into a clown.

"Oh you don't know?" Eddie's supposed to feel fear, fuck that, he's supposed to have had an heart attack at this point, a damned leaper changed into a clown in front of his eyes! What type of bullshit reality is this? But he's sick and tired of random people knowing more about his or Richie's life than him, 

oh you don't know? Fucking try him, he'll show this whole putrid town what he does know, that you either fight or die on your mistakes.

"Choke, You raggedy ass looking moppet." Eddie growls as he draps strong fingers around Its neck. The clown's taken by surprise, giving Eddie the leverage he needs to press hard against it's windpipes and squishing until they crack. He feels grime sweeping through his hands and down his arms, the strong smell makes his eyes water but he doesn't give in, the thing tries to throw him off but his stand is steady.

Eddie watches as It starts losing height, bloodshot eyes bugs out of the clown's face and pasty skin is turning purple before his grip falters a little. It's expression changes and his red mouth opens wide, a black liquid courses out, drenching Eddie and making him let go. He can't see anything, his fist comes up to scrub his eyes but he's met with clean skin.

He opens them up, ready to fight again but he's alone.

Eddie feels like he's going crazy before he sees a missing poster where the clown was standing a second ago, he bends to pick it up and he staggers for a moment, fear clouds his mind before he clutches it between his fist and runs out into Palmer street. 

Eddie breathes fresh air into his lungs, it burns his chest coming down, but he doesn't care. He inspects the place to see if there's someone else around who might want to drag him through the ground some more but the lanes are empty so he starts running down the street.

He's on the intersection to Richie's street when his rush is disrupted by another body forcefully colliding with him, sending him down and almost making him see lights. 

"...what, Eddie?" Stan's voice breaks through his thoughts as he lifts his head up, grimacing in pain. 

"Man, I know you hate me, but fuck that hurt." He rubs his head and focuses on his friend, who's looking upset and scared.

"What happened to you? Sonia found-" Stan starts but Eddie's tremors stop him, he hasn't gotten over what he did to Richie, but he's still his friend. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to say that," Stan tries instead, but he just shakes his head and huffs. 

"I know what you meant, it's okay if you're grossed out about this, I'm the one who should apologize." They're still laying on the ground, but he needs him to understand he never meant to fall for Richie.

Stan looks confused and a bit mad, "disgusted? Eddie, homophobia is something a little more than disgusting." His thoughts screech to a halt, homo-what now? 

"Homophobia? Stan, How can I be homophobic?" He asks and his friend actually looks ready to throw a punch. 

"What do you mean, how? Well shit, look what you did to Richie," he spats and Eddie has to laugh.

"How does kissing a man equate homophobia in someone's logic?" He laughs self-deprecating, but Stan looks like he just got struck over the head. 

"You did what?" His friend asks him and he winces, fuck, he didn't know, he thinks, well it's a fantastic day to be **dragged** out of the closet too, he guesses. 

"didn't he tell you? I kissed him the other day and when I tried to...say some things I felt, he didn't take it well." He's dancing around the topic, but he's earned some privacy, damnit! 

His friend looks shocked and Eddie tries to see what this whole misunderstanding is. "You don't know?" Stan asks and he does roll his eyes this time.

"Holy shit, if someone asks me that one more time I'm suing," Eddie says rubbing his head, but his friend just looks more startled. "What Stan, What the fuck was he supposed to tell me?" He asks but Stan shakes his curls and stands up before offering his hand to Eddie. 

"Why were you running?" His friend asks, making Eddie remember what happened. 

"I- I don't know, I needed to see Richie, I guess," he half lies because how are you supposed to explain a leaper taunting him about it? 

"Well let's go, I have a bad feeling, eddie." Stan ominously says but he doesn't have time to ask so they start going up Richie's street, once they see the open door they look at each other before running.

Eddie's the first one to go into the dark house, and the broken bottles upset him even more, but Stan just grabs his hand and pulls him up the stairs. "Richie!" He screams, seeing water falling down the steps like a small waterfall but no one answers back.

If the two boys were more calm, they probably would've heard the children's giggles coming from behind them; they probably would've seen Maggie tTozier peeking through the dirty kitchen island but getting to Richie was the only thing on their mind, granting It with a great opening show before the big spectacle.

They stop abruptly in front of the bathroom. "Stan, there's water coming from there, Stan," Eddie says, slapping his friend on the arm until he grabs his hand and squeezes it. 

"Get a grip man, maybe he forgot to turn it off," Stan tries to reassure them both. But he can't ignore the voice he heard.

' _Help…I don't want to be one of the dead ones'_.

Stan won't let anything bad happen to his friend, he refuses, even if he can't begin to understand what is going on in this damned town, he promised Richie they'd leave this place together and he'll keep his word.

They walk through the door but freeze once they see inside, Eddie whines and Stan feels hysteria rapidly overcome his senses.

It's hauntingly beautiful, the stark contrast between white tiles and dried blood on the wall looks like the perfect description of a scene. There's water overflowing the bathtub, but Stan can almost distinguish red smears on the floor.

"What… what the fuck is going? Richie! Richie you fucking asshole, this isn't funny!" Eddie's out of the small room and screaming in the middle of the hall, fear laces his words and Stan turns in time to see him choke on air and gag. 

He knows Eddie has panic attacks, but Richie's always there to help him out so Stan's not sure what to do and Richie isn't fucking here to help Eddie, who's looking like he's going to die and he can't do anything because Richie isn't there and there's blood on his wall and… and Richie is gone.

His friend grips his arm, shaking Stan out of his spiraling mind and he tries to remember what to do. "Eddie! Fuck, breathe with me, c'mon Eddie, match your breathing to mine, c'mon." He kneels in front of him and puts his hand on his chest, Eddie's eyes are watering, and the raw distress he sees makes him sob. He can't do this alone, he needs someone here now, he needs Richie to be here in his fucking house, where he was supposed to be.

"Can't... breathe, Stan... can- inhaler," Eddie forces out through broken gasps and Stan remembers something. "Eddie! wait here a second," he hurriedly tells him before lowering him down and going to Richie's room. Stan keeps talking to him as he searches for the blue inhaler he knows his friend takes everywhere with him in case Eddie needs it, he ignores the stench of vomit and liquor, jumping over the bed and yanking open Richie's bedside table.

There's everything ranging from his headphones to books, Stan sees the pair of razors and tears cloud his vision as he takes them and puts them in his pocket, _you knew… you knew and you didn't do anything, he didn't mean to, lord please he didn't mean to._

"Stan!" Eddie screams as he probably stopped talking, but Stan's shaking fingers search through the drawer until he sees a black box, he snaps it open and takes the metal device in his hands. He drops it once on his way to Eddie but he manages to control his emotions enough to take the puffer to his friend's mouth and trigger the canister twice. 

Stan lays back on his arms to give Eddie space as he tries to drown the despair he feels, his friend needs him now, there'll be time for him to mourn later.

"What- what does it mean, Stan?" Eddie rasps out, fresh tears stream down his face as he grasps onto the inhaler tightly. "What's going on?" He asks the world in a low tone, ready to wake the fuck up and forget about this nightmare.

"I don't know but we need to get to the others," Stan answers as he gets back to his feet and inches closer to the open door. "There's no time Eddie, we don't know when Richie-" he cuts himself off, not ready to say it aloud. Stan almost traces the words on the wall but instead he just closes the tap. At the bottom of the bath Eddie sees a cigarette and as he fishes for it a glint inside the water snaps his attention.

"Oh God, holy fuck Stan." He gingerly graces the stained razor. Eddie cuts his hand as he takes it, but he barely feels it. He can feel the shortness of breath again, but he's ready to tamper his panic before it boils over, there's no time now, he's going to find Richie and then freak out.

Eddie reaches for his inhaler, but his hand brushes against wrinkled paper, he takes it out quickly, unfolds it and pocks Stan, who pales even more once he sees the yellow paper:

**police department**

_City of derry_

**MISSING**

Richie Lizzie tozier

Last seen in Well house, on neibolt street.

Please contact the Dead ones:

**_8000---131-0728_**

"Where'd you get this, Eddie?" Stan asks, his eyes don't leave the contact name...the dead ones. If Eddie saw something too, then maybe it wasn't a hallucination? 

"I...err I found it on the ground behind the pharmacy," Eddie answers hesitant to tell the whole crazy encounter, but Stan is way past logic at this point, if a damn turtle helps finding Richie, then he'll listen to the damn turtle, so that's what he says before asking him again.

"Did you see something, Eddie? Anything weird or- I don't know, just anything?" Stan urges him on, his mind going a mile a minute as he sees him hesitate before nodding.

"You have to promise to let me finish talking before you say anything Stan, I know it's lunatic but-" Eddie shrugs, waiting for his friend to nod, once he does, Eddie tells him everything, from Keene's intervention to the leaper's last words. He's waiting for Stan to laugh, to even get angry again, but when Eddie looks up from his hands Stan looks openly worried. "You believe me?" He wonders out loud, his friend just nods once and tells him they need to go to someone, making Eddie huff.

"Where are we supposed to go, Stan? Call the police and tell them what? That I saw a leaper and a clown who told me they had my missing friend?" He says bitterly, but Stan never deterred by sarcasm just rolls his eyes and states that.

"No you dumbass, we need the others."

Eddie doesn't know how long it took them to get there, the usual bike ride doubled the time now that none of them had their bikes with them, but once Bill's house came to view he felt a little lighter. 

Their 'leader' always knew what to do, that's just how things went, Stan knows logic, Eddie knows health hazards and Bill knows what to do in every situation.

Another bit of weight is lifted off his shoulders as he sees the other's bikes too. The scene doesn't seem as dark as it did back at Richie's house, then again it probably feels like that because he isn't being drowned by guilt as he did back there, the evidence of what Eddie did to his friend isn't being choked down his throat anymore. Stan must have felt the same way as he walks with a force that wasn't present in his steps five minutes ago.

They ring the bell and it's not long before Bill's mom answers. "There you are, I was wondering why the gang wasn't complete today," Sharon Denbrough chirply says, and the two boys give her a tight-lipped smile for her troubles, she ushers them in without commenting on Eddie's state, who's more than grateful for it. As they're going up the stairs she asks innocently about Richie, but Eddie can't bring himself to answer so he just looks at Stan as he comes up with some bullshit before counting their way to Bill's room. 

Strangely there's no noise coming from the other side of the door, and a quick glance to Eddie's face tells him his friend's thinking the same thing, he wrongly dismisses the empty feeling in his stomach again in order to push the door open.

Their friends are sitting around the room, with Beverly and Mike on the bed as Bill and Ben point to a bunch of papers and maps propped up on the walls, they look sullen and tired making Eddie wonders if they should sprung this at them right now, but he knows there's no time for tactilities. 

They stop at the sight of them, seeing Eddie's injuries and assuming Stan gave them to him. "Uhm what happened to you?" Mike asks him softly, as if testing the waters. 

"I didn't hurt him, you trolls, have you seen my arms?" Stan asks them, temporarily forgetting the paralyzing fear he's felt since that morning but Eddie throws him a look, sobering him up, he makes his way to the bed and uncharacteristically tucks himself under mike's arm and closes his eyes as Eddie tells them what happened.

He doesn't see their palling faces, but he does feel Mike's grip getting tighter and tighter around him, once his friend caught them up to speed, the only remaining topic was the whole situation. 

"Okay so, this morning I went into my room and I noticed something different about it, a couple of books had been reorganized, and as I was fixing them I heard some voices talking and some weird shit happened-" Stan stops to see his friend's open faces, no one looked like they didn't believe him and either he has the best friend anyone could ask for or, all of them, himself included, were fools. "And then I heard a… I heard Richie asking me to help him, he said he didn't want to be a Dead one, but I didn't know what that meant so as I was going to check on him I crashed into Eddie who'd just had something similar happened to him and we went to look for Richie but he-" Stan cuts himself off as he feels grief finally unraveling as he recounts what happened. 

Eddie takes the story from there and Stan just curls in on Mike and subtly cries. His friends are considerate enough to not say anything and they focus on Eddie, who swiftly tells them what he saw and what they found at Richie's house, but once he tells them what was written on the wall, Bill seems to tense up, starting to rummage through stacks of paper. 

"Are you sure? Eddie are you completely sure that's what it said?" He asks Eddie, who nods his head.

" _You'll float too_... that's what it said, right Stan?" He ratifies with Stan, who agrees despite his soft sniffs. "What does it matter what it says?" Eddie pushes on, confused at his friend's strange focus.

"I…I also saw something weird and it said those exact words to me," Bill explains what he saw, doubts and questions pushed to the back of his mind at the idea of something bad happening to Richie if they don't get to him on time.

Ben scratches his neck as Bill finishes, the words are on the tip of his mouth but Mike beats him to it. "You guys remember the Harris avenue fire? That was my house… and I saw that today." 

Ben scribes all the new information, not able to make head or tail of it, but sure that they were clues to this whole mess. 

"Okay, we all saw crazy shit, so What?" Stan asks as he stands up again, brushing his hand through his curls and looking at the map pinned to Bill's board. "Richie's gone, and there was blood...and things and just what the fuck are we supposed to do?" He's frustrated, they're still young and this feels like something way bigger than them.

"Did you call?" Bev asks, pointing at the missing post, Eddie shakes his head, Bill takes the phone and rings the number, they all quiet down in order to hear what's on the other side. The line rings twice before someone answers. 

"Hello?" Bill asks but the only sound that comes through is children's voices overlapping, they look at eachother confused. 

"Richie?" Stan prodes out in a wet voice, scared but hopeful to find out something about his friend. 

"Tick...tock, losers," someone mocks before the line goes dead. 

"I know who that is, that's the clown's voice," Ben says and they all nod.

His head is aching but he can feel the final piece so close, it's dancing right in front of them, escaping through his fingers like running water.

Ben's eyes open wide as he finally figures it out, pieces coming together and what looked like a muddle scene suddenly is crystal clear. 

"... _water_ , there was water in the background." He hurries over and takes the map and a bunch of Polaroids before going out the door and down to the garage, hearing multiple steps behind him.

Someone turns on the lights as he props the projector up. Ben struggles to find the right photo, his hands quiver and he drops some on the floor, but manages to puts the one he needs on the fine slit. He waves his hand to Eddie who's looking apprehensive at the almost dark street behind their backs. 

"Eddie turn off the lights, please," Ben says but his friend shakes his head. 

"What the fuck do you mean turn off the lights? Did you forget what we saw?" He refuses, but Mike puts his arm across Eddie's back reassuringly and Bev turns them off. 

"What's going on?" Stan asks when a graphic of the ' _Old Derry_ ' appears on the white wall. 

Ben starts ranting as he pins up a map of the sewer system. "Okay so, I started searching Derry's history almost a month ago. I felt like there was something weird about this town and I wanted to find out what it was." His hand comes up to his lips as he tries to organise what he just finished to understand himself. "Mike helped me yesterday and we came up with a bunch of tragedies and stuff like that over the years, but I knew there was more to it than bad luck." 

Mike takes a red marker out of a glass container and starts crossing random places. "First there was the explosion down at derry ironworks in 1908; then, fifty four years later the black spot fire happened; and just this year, a bunch of disappearances had happened around town," Ben explained as he pointed at each location. "But I couldn't figure out why it was always down this side of Penobscot river, not until I saw Richie's missing post." Stan hands it over, engrossed with the unraveling story before his eyes. 

"Neilbolt… or the Well house, gets its name from being built on top of derry's former Well house, where they found the only clue to the 91 settlers disappearance, a bloody trail of clothes, and not only that, but-" Ben stops to catch his breath once before he switches on another photo with red lining.

"It's also where the whole sewer system originates." He finishes his speech with a sigh.

The losers are astonished with all the new information, but after a moment Bill stands up and shakes hypothetical dirt off his jeans. 

"Ben... you're a genius," he declares and Ben blushes despite himself. "If there's any correlation between any of this and Richie, then we need to go to Neilbolt," Bill concludes in that self-assured way of his, a loser so confident on his way that he convinces everyone, even the most sceptical, everyone but Stan who laughs drily at him. 

"What are you on, Bill? Did you not hear what Ben so sophisticatedly explained?" He stabs a nagging finger on his friend's chest. "What are we going to do? Show up and hope for the best? Deter a damn demon clown with love and friendship?" He turns around to cease his shocked friends. "We are teens! We don't know shit about anything… fucking Bowers beats our asses every time he wants! And you want to- what?" He pushes the projector on his rage and the image on the wall gets askew, "put Richie's life on the line for shit and giggles? We need help, Bill. We need to go with the police, the fire department...the fucking pet rescue!" Stan stops as a stilted laugh is ripped from his chest before tears of frustration wet his cheeks. Mike takes him in his arms and whispers urgently in his ear, they all watch as Stan calms down under their friends attention and Eddie feels jealousness twist up his stomach before standing forward.

"They won't believe us, and we don't have time, if that thing is responsible for everything that Ben said, then we need to go now, we can't lose him!" -Eddie dries his wet palms on his shorts and reaches for his inhaler before continuing- _"I can't lose him!"_


End file.
